,  -  .Xs   ..,->•  .-.;  .x=::  ^f_f.  -, 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Intimations  of  Heaven 


INTIMATIONS  OF  HEAVEN 
AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BY 

HORACE  EATON  WALKER 


•'.•//•*  lonr/ii,  i:itn  lireris." 


CLAKKMONT   N.   H. 
GEO'.   I.  PUTNAM    CO. 

1898 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1898,  by 

HORACE    EATOX    WALKER, 

In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


CONTENTS 

INTIMATIONS  OF  HEAVEN 

THE  LADY  OF  SANTA  ROSA 

MY   AIDENN 

SONG  OF  THE  SEA-SHELL 

HELL  AND  HEAVEN 

AMABEL 


764026 


INTIMATIONS    OF    HEAVEN 

1  gathered  me  also  silver  and  gold,  and  the  peculiar  treas 
ure  of  kings  and  of  the  provinces:  1  gat  me  meti  singers  and 
%vomcn  singers,  and  the  delights  of  the  sons  of  men,  as  musi 
cal  instruments,  and  that  of  all  sorts. — Ecclesiastes. 

I. 

Hear:    "Vanity  of  vanities"  ;    but  I : 

Have  profit  in  thy  labors  all  thy  days, 

And  tho'  the  generations  pass,  the  lays 
Of  well-spent  hours  shall  sing  to  thee.      The  sky 
Shall  hold  the  glorious  sun.      The  winds  shall  dry 

The  earth,  go  to  the  torrid  south  ;   the  bla/e 

Of  suns  shall  blind ;   but  have  a  heart  and  Mays 
Will  be  as  lilting  birds  that  once  did  My. 

For  in  these  days  we  need  the  largest  hope. 

Since  Doubt  is  mountainous  in  all  our  lives; 

Many  today  in  horrid  darkness  grope ; 

But  I  :   As  bees  about  their  honeyed  hives 

Let  joys  flock  round  thy  hearts.        Fling  doubt  and   stretch 

The  portals  of  thy  being,  doubting  wretch  ! 


8  INTIMATIONS   OK    HEAVEN 

II. 

And  though  all  streams  run  to  the  emerald  sea. 
The  sea  is  still  unfilled ;  but  may  thy  heart 
For  very  gladness  be  o'erfilled ;  and  art, 

And  song,  and  merry-making  be  to  thee 

An  aureole  above  thy  life ;   for  glee 

Is  medicine  to  every  heart.      In  mart. 

In  by-ways,  and  green  lanes,  let  joys  upstart. 

And  heaven  to  earth  be  a  reality  ! 

The  cup  of  gladness ;  drink  it  to  the  dregs, 
As  some  old  bibber  lost  in  happiness, 

And  every  nest  will  have  its  speckled  eggs 

Of  new  delights.  Put  on  thy  wedding  dress. 

Regain  the  smiles  when  love  first  made  thee  bride. 

Throw  doubt,  and  sail  with  joy  the  honied  tide. 

III. 

All  things  are  full  of  labor.     Bear  thy  load, 
For  in  the  doing  thou  shalt  have  delight, 
The  pressed  juice  of  grapes  will  sweeten,  night 

With  million  stars  shall  light  thee  on  thy  road 

To  Edens.      Happiness  in  thine  abode 

Shall  wear  tiaras  golden,  and  "the  light 
Not  found  on  sea  or  land,"  effulgent  white, 

Shall  dome  above  thee,  life  be  one  long  ode. 

So,  drink  of  gladness  ;   chase  the  yellow  bow  ; 

Find  bag  of  gold ;   be  happy  butterflv 
And  woo  the  gilded  glories  round  thee ;   go 

Among  the  clover,  where  the  grass  is  high, 
And  be  a  lad  again  :   the  melody 
Of  nightingales  be  one  long  song  to  thee. 


INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN  9 

IV. 

The  thing  that  hath  been  is  to  be  ;   then  love, 
And  flowery  brides,  and  beauty,  holiness 
Of  heart  and  soul.      So,  bring  thy  bridal  dress, 

And  bring  the  crushed  rose  that  heaved  above 

Thv  heart  at  Hymen's  altar;  then  a  dove 
Of  Ararat  you  seemed  to  him,  not  less 
Than  eve's  one  star  ;   while  love  with  gentle  stress, 

Pressed  life's  new  hope,  and  flung  the  wedding  glove. 

So,  dare  remember  all  the  joys  that  were. 

The  bridal  wreath,  the  lover's  stolen  kiss, 
And  fall  upon  thy  knees  once  more  to  her, 

And  try  to  win  the  beautv  and  the  bliss 
That  once  were  thine  when  life  was  fresh  and  new, 
And  every  rosy  sparkled  in  its  dew. 

V. 

No  new  thing  'neath  the  sun  ?     Ah  me  !      Ah  me  ! 

Where  all  our  hopes  and  aspirations?     Say  : 

Shall  inky  night  befoul  my  marriage  lay? 
Shall  every  hope  and  aspiration  be 
Dethroned,  and  relegated  to  the  sea 

Where  Hope's  new  wings  were  clipped  ?  I  tell  thee,  nay  ! 

Fling  out  Hope's  banner  to  the  light  of  dav, 
And  sail  fore'er  with  gladsome  Jollitv  ! 

And  build  thy  gilded  castles  in  the  air, 

Raise  minaret  and  turret  to  the  sky, 
And  on  thy  tombstone  Hope  and  not  Despair  ; 

Fling  flowerets  like  a  rainbow  up  on  high  ; 
Be  merry  as  the  flowers,  make  old  things  new  ; 
'Twill  build  a  hope  from  heaven  down  to  vou  ! 


10  IXTIMATlOXi*   OF   HEAVEN 

VI. 

And  no  remembrance?     Ah  !   to  thee,  gray  hairs, 
Shall  be  oblivion  in  thy  hoary  age  ; 
Thou  canst  no  more  unclasp  the  hallowed  page 

And  read  :   In  orchard  'neath  the  mellowed  pears 

The  rosy  god  entangled   me  in  snares 

Of  love  !   and  there  in  love's  assumed  rage 

I  slormed  and  stamped.      But  last  in  gilded  cage 

He  prisoned  me,  I  captured  unawares. 

And  so  he  shall  not  turn  these  hallowed   leaves 
Of  memory,  shall  not  dare  recall  the  flowers 

Of  bridal  davs,  when  'neath  the  mouldered  eaves 

He  plucked  them,  crowning  all  the  happy  hours 

With  life's  new  wreath,  and  breathed  a  tale  to  her 

That  made  life's  viols  sound  out  merrier. 

VII. 

And  I  was  king.      And  so  a  king  am  I  ; 

I  shall  not  be  dethroned.     My  gilded  rod 

Is  bright  with  age.      I  climb  with  silvered   hod 

The  building  that  I  build.     The  hours  may  fly, 

The  clouds  may  gather  in  the  rounded  sky. 

And  thunders  crash  above  me  :   flowered  sod 
vShall  smile  in  loveliness  up  to  its  God  ; 

For  Hope  doth  bow  above  us  far  on  high. 

So,  once  a  king,  be  king  for  aye  ;  let  Time 

Roll  on  in  cha\iot  car,  and  days  and  years  ; 

Hold  fast  thou  hast,  and  life  shall  rhyme  and  rhyme 
In  one  glad  song ;  and  all  thy  falling  tears 

Will  turn  to  beaded  gems,  and  every  thing 

Will  grow  to  beauty  like  a  jeweled  spring.- 


INTIMATIONS   OF    1IKAVEN  11 

VIII. 

And  he  was  preacher.      Let  no  talc  of  woe 

He  preached  to  me.      I'  11  fling  my  starry  flag 
Against  the  clouds.     Wilt  call  it  tattered  rag? 

An  emblem  of  defeat?     Let  tidings  go: 

Happiness  still  spans  like  .overarching  bow, 
And  he  who  dares  to  say  my  golden  bag 
Is  empty,  finds  my  banner  does  not  sag, 

But  floats  o'er  every  hut  and  bungalow  ! 

Go  !   the  Procession  moves  apace.      The  star 

Of  hope  is  on  our  gilded  ensign  ;   back 
We  look  and  forward.      O'er  the  sanded  bar 

Of  death  we  never  go.      The  beaten  track 
Of  glorv,  hope,  we  march  with  rvthmic  feet, 
And  on  our  banner  is  no  word  Defeat  ' 


1  gave  mv  heart  to  seek  all  wisdom.      Time 

Flew  on.      The  days  were  wedded  to  the  years 
In  haloed  glorv.      Here  was  death  with  tears, 

And  here  was  love  with  manv  a  marriage  rhyme, 

And  here  was  wisdom,  genius  in  his  clime 

Of  song,  and  high  court-ladies  with  the  peers 
Of  Parliament,  and  some  had  jibes  and  jeers  ; 

But,  over  all,  Omnipotence  sublime  ! 

I  squeeze  the  orange,  and  my  hope  is  there. 

I  press  the  grape,  and  rare  delicious  wines 
Of  Magra  touch  my  lips.      With  golden  hair 

My  muse  has  come  ;  with  corrugated  lines, 
Like  crinkling  waters,  rippled  down  her  back 
Her  golden  hair,  sweet  flowerets  in  her  track. 


12  INTIMATIONS    OF    HEAVEN 


Yea,  I  have  seen  all  works  beneath  the  sun ; 

But  dare  not  tell  me  vanity,  that  all 

Is  vanity.  A  builder  build  a  wall 
I  've  seen,  to  shelter  little  children  won 
From  murky  streets,  and  then  caparison 

Them  all  with  heaven's  happy  coronal ; 

I  Ve  seen  a  mother  with  a  remnant  shawl 
Bend  homeward,  her  last  scrap  of  duty  done. 

So,  lift  the  glory  of  this  mundane  sphere 

Against  the  stars.      We  may  not  raise  the  dead 

But  death  has  won  our  heart's  unstinted  tear; 

And,  therefore,  shall  we  crv  when  she  is  wed : 

Nay,  nay,  take  not  our  hope !      Let  cloudless  skies 

Expand  with  golden  rainbow  o'er  our  eyes. 


Our  wavs  are  crooked  ?        Who   shall    make  them   straight 
But  pardon,  we  will  fling  our  flowers  to  thee, 
O  Heaven  !     We  '11  sail  our  life's  tempestuous  sea 

With  all  things  fair,  and  Hope  shall  be  our  mate ; 

Our  crew  the  best !  To  come  here  was  our  fate, 
Yet  we  dare  hope  our  song  will  rise  and  be 
A  rhyme  among  the  stars,  Eternity 

Will  hear,  and  God  find  waiting  at  the  Gate ! 

So,  let  us  place  a  rosy  on  her  grave ; 

So,  let  us  mourn  when  we  are  sad  and  drear, » 
And  let  us  sing  o'er  death  our  solemn  stave, 

And  drop  above  our  dead  the  silent  tear ; 
And  when  we  lay  her  in  the  quiet  tomb, 
O  let  us  feel  she's  smiling  thro'  the  gloom  I 


IM  IM  ATIONS   OK    HKAVKN  1.'! 

XII. 

And  never  man  had  greater  wisdom  :   I 

Was  ruler;    I  communed  with  mine  own  heart; 
Vet  vanity.      O  preacher  !    let  mine  art 

Place  love's  embroidery  o'er  the  earth  and  sky, 

A  veil  of  beautv  over  death,  with  dye 

Cerulean  paint  all  woe,  the  flowers  that  start 
O'er  new-made  graves,  transpose  to  heal  the  smart 

Of  dissolution,  hallow  those  that  die. 

Since  I.  O  Preacher!     now  would  change  all  woe 
To  beauty,  and  make  death  a^lorious  hope : 

This  life  a  preparation  till  we  go 

In  grand  procession  thro'  the  doors  that  ope 

To  Heaven ;  for  I  have  come  to  preach  of  love. 

And  hope,  and  of  that  Wreath  of  flowers  above. 

XIII. 

I  gave  my  heart  to  know  all  wisdom,  folly ; 

And  yet  I  found  vexation.     Why  this  sadness? 

Obliteration  of  all  hope  ?     This  madness 
With  things  that  we  call  beautiful?     O  jolly 
Hand-maidens,  pouting  girls,  drive  melancholy 

Over  the  caverned  Styx  ;   and  boys  of  gladness 

Blow  all  your  trumps  of  joy  and  chase  this  badness 
From  earth  and  twine  the  Michaelmas  green  holly. 

For  I  have  drawn  a  flaming  sword,  and  hero 

In  life's  great  vanguard,  I  shall  lead  to  battle 

For  peace,  and  white  contrition ;  every  Nero 

Shall  feel  my  blade  !  We  're  not  ''dumb,  driven  cattle," 

But  human  gods  with  spirits  born  in  heaven, 

With  strength  of  one?      Yea,  as  the  strength  of  seven! 


14  INTIMATION.-    OF    MKAVKN 

XIV. 

Yes,  in  much  wisdom  there  is  grief,  and  so 

Does  knowledge  cause  us  sorrow.        Yet,   dear  Bard 

Inspired  by  heaven,  I  love  the  daisied  yard 
By  cabin  home,  the  lovely  flowers  that  blow : 
I  love  to  see  the  rainstorm's  yellow  bow 

Across  the  mountains,  an  embroidered  card, 

A  chiseled  cameo,  a  poet  starred 
By  earth,  with  banners  flaunting  high  and  low. 

For  hear  my  mandate,  doubter,  infidel  : 

This  life  is  but  a  premonition  grand 
To  me,  of  that  high  life  where  faretheewell 

Is  never  spoken;   where  a  winged  band, 
Like  great  white  clouds,  throng  our  Jerusalem, 
\Vhitc-robed  and  crowned  bv  starrv  anadem. 

XV. 

And  so  avaunt !   all  doubt.      Serene  and  fair. 

Come  sweet  Placidity,  and  happy  girls 

With  wreathed  horns,  and  love-entangled  curls. 
And  flowery  bosoms,  apple  cheeks  as  rare 
As  Eden  peach,  with  rippling  golden  hair, 

And  winy  gladness,  tangling  gray  old  earls 

In  meshes  of  delight,  revealing  pearls 
In  pursed  mouth,  and  hearts  as  light  as  air. 

For  melancholy,  trials,  troubles,  all 

And  everything  that  comes  to  mar  our  mirth, 

Get  hence  and  leer  behind  thy  dungeon  wall ; 
For  fairies  shall  adorn  our  lovelv  earth, 

And  dispositions  sweet  as  pressed  wine. 

Shall  be  to  all  of  earth  from  heaven  divine. 


IXTIMATIUN.S    OF    HEAVEN  15 

XVI. 

Go  place  a  rosy  on  the  bride,  a  ring 

Ol"  gold  bring  unto  her.      Make  merry.      Paint 
All  splendors  of  the  morning.      Make  a  saint 

Of  her.      Put  on  thy  wedding  suit  and  bring 

New  gladness  unto  her.  The  bridal  spring 
Put  in  her  heart.  Discoloration,  taint. 
Disfigurement,  and  woe,  and  all  complaint. 

Put  these  aside,  and  basket  roses  fling. 

For,  hear  again  :    I  come  to  battle  worry, 

And  disaffection,  sour  entangled  creeds, 
And  stop  this  strain  for  wealth,  this  hurry,  hurry  ; 

This  mad  contention  ;   trample  on  the  weeds 
Of  old  hallucination;   fling  about 
The  seeds  of  peace,  and  crush  this  age's  Doubt  I 

XVII. 

I  '11  build  me  castles  by  the  sanded  sea, 

I  '11  raise  me  houses  full  of  all  things  fair, 

I  '11  be  a  lover  of  old  books  so  rare 
That  earth  has  not  another.      I  will  be 
As  free  as  soft  Balalo  gales,  and  tree, 

And  shrub,  and  vine,  and  vert,  and  voweled  air 

From    thrummed    lute,    shall    come    from   everywhere. 
And  please  me  with  their  braided  rarity. 

For",  jolly  girls,  be  jollier  still,  and  swains, 

Pipe  out  new  songs  ;   and  cow-boys  fling  your  hats 

Against  the  clouds,  and  send  the  Bacchus  strains 

Down  into  hearts  of  gloom  ;   and  pastoral  mats, 

And  Turkish  rugs,  and  everything  of  beauty 

Bring  to  our  lives  ;    for  'tis  vour  right,  vour  dutv  .' 


16  INTIMATIONS   OF   HKAVKX 

XVIII. 

Place  rare  bouquets  upon  your  shelves  ;   fetch  art 

From  every  clime,  and  sculpture-work  of  Greece. 
And  all  the  love  of  Dante's  Beatrice, 

And  Ariosto's  Princess.     Laura.     Start 

In  all  directions  ;   love  to  shrine  the  heart 

With  all  things  beautiful  ;   and  find  release 
From  foul-faced  woe.  till  tessellated  Peace 

Shall  smile  eternal,  tho'  death  fling  his  dart. 

And  music  bring,  and  viols  tuned   rare, 

And   lutes   that   Orphean   hands   shall    touch,  and  lutes 
That  blessed  Sapphos  loved  ;   and  maids  with  hair 

Of  gold,  and  marble  boys,  white  little  mutes, 
And  all  things  fair,  till  jolly  cheeks  of  joy 
Are  red  with  love,  life'  s  buoyant  as  a  boy. 

XIX. 

Burn  Voltaire.  Never  read  a  bitter  book 
Of  theologic  doubt ;  and  never  gaze 
On  prurient  picture.  Come  from  out  the  haze 

Of  turgid  isms,  and  never  dare  to  look 

On  horrors.      Down,   force   down    the  gnome    and    spook. 
And  rush  among  the  fields,  the  tasseled  ways, 
The  greening  grots,  where  beauty  's  all  ablaze, 

And  life  outbabbles  like  a  grottoed  brook. 

So,  turn  your  shoulder.      Drive  crowned  Satan  back. 
And  crown  alone  the  god  of  love  and  peace ; 

Pile  high  the  flowers  along  life's  winding  track, 
And  crown  with  all  the  loveliness  of  Greece 

Your  home,  your  fireside,  and  thy  shrine  will  be 

Lovelier  than  emeralds  of  antiquitv  '. 


INTIMATIONS    OF    I1KAVEN  17 


I  said  in  mine  own  heart :   O  go  to  now  ! 

For  mirth  shall  prove  thee,  and  sweet  pleasure.      And 

He  found  it  vanity.      Take,  belov'd,  my  hand. 
And  let  me  lead  thee  with  thy  noble  brow 
To  quiet  pleasures1,  rosy  mirth ;  endow 

Thee  with  sweet  love ;  the  Spanish  saraband. 

Or  stately  minuet,  or  dance  on  sand 
Of  seashores,  be  as  pleasures,  I  avow ! 

Since  I  would  have  the  golden  lyre,  the  lute 

That  beauty  touched,  the    stringed    harp ;     for    mirth 
Is  mine.      I  'm  not  a  preacher  tall  and  mute, 

But  blessed  being  God  has  made  for  earth. 
Its  wholesome  joys ;  and  love  I  beauteous  spring, 
Mine  own  true  heart  will  crown  me  like  a  king ! 

XXI. 

And  laughter's  mad?     And  mirth  what  doeth  it? 

My  laughter    keeps  me  sweet ;  and  mirth  ?     Ah  me  1 
I  give  thee  gloom,  and  death,  the  moaning  sea ; 

But  laughter,  mirth,  I  cannot  spare  a  bit; 

A  thousand  bumpers  I  will  drink  to  wit, 

A  thousand  beakers  drain ;  and  I  will  be 
By  laughing  waters,  full  of  joys,  and  see 

An  Eden,  build  me  castles  where  I  sit. 

For  hear  me,  pessimist,  there  's  not  a  woe, 

An  unremembered  grave,  but  I  would  clothe 

In  loveliness  !     Let  every  floweret  blow  ; 

Strike    down  the    weeds  of    doubt,  for  these  I    loathe ; 

And  bury  woes  in  garbs  of  loveliness, 

Yea.  clothe  them  ever  with  life's  wedding  dress. 


18  INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN 

XXII. 

I  sought  to  give  myself  to  wine  ;   i  built 

Me  houses  grand,  great  works  1  made,  that  I 

Might  see  what   should  be  good  for  men.     And,  ay ! 

He  planted  vineyards ;  boys  in  figured  kilt, 

And  Bacchus  lads,  wine-bearers  ;  bossed  hilt 
On  rare  Damascus  blade,  and  elf  and  fay, 
And  music-boys  in  many  a  roundelay, 

He  might  have  had,  and  yet  his  wine  had  spilt. 

For  all  the  gold  of  India  piled  high, 

Or  eagle  diamonds  flashing  like  the  stars 

In  winter  skies,  had  not  sufficed.     For  I 

Know   Peace !   She  's  found   bosidc    the    milking    bars. 

And  not  where  temples  rear  their  frondcd  art, 

For  these  delight  the  eye,  but  not  the  heart ! 

XXIII. 

He  made  him  orchards,  gardens ;  luscious  fruit 
O'erweighted  many  a  tree,  and  bellied  grapes 
Blushed  in  purple  splendor,  greening  capes 

In  viny  textures  spread  above  ;  and  mute 

Waters  soft  mirrored  treetops ;  spiral  chute, 

And  curved  strait,  and  curious-made  escapes 
For  water,  vines  in  old  fantastic  shapes, 

Made  his  new  kingdom,  yet  it  did  not  suit ! 

For  nay  !     He  had  no  wine  of  gladness.     Eye 
And  heart  were  not  united.     Method,  yea ! 

Method  was  in  his  madness.     Fie  and  fie 

For  him  !      He  might  have  lived  to  this  day 

And  he  had  been  dear  earth's  unhappy  wight, 

A  little  pleased,  but  happy?     Ah,  not  quite  ! 


INTIMATIONS   OK  HEAVEN  19 

XXIV. 

And  pools  of  water  lie  did  get,  that  trees 

And  vines  and  herbage  he  might  have,  for  life 
To  him  .would  be  a  passing  dream.     The  strife 

Of  kingdoms  vexed  him  not ;   no  rarities, 

Nor  dainties,  with  their  trite  disparities 

Or  disaffections  ;  but  the  pruning  knife 
Every  false  tree  should  feel,  till  rare  and  rife 

Earth  glory  he  would  worship  on  his  knees  ! 

But  Love  he  knew  thec  not !     And  wreathed  Peace, 
Your  A.  B.  C.  he  never  learned  ;  for  gold 

And  glitter,  and  the  glimmering  things  ol  Greece 
And  Rome,  or  rare  exotics  from  the  wold 

Ol  England  blinded  him.      Satiety  came 

To  him.     Today  we  do  not  know  his  name  ! 

XXV. 

And  yet  he  got  him  servants ;    maidens  fair 

As  angels  are  he  got.     Great  cattle,  too, 

Nibbled  his  grasses.     Yearling  calves  did  loo 
In  overabundance.     Any  Croesus  there, 
Or  far,  was  never  richer.     And  I  swear 

Solomon  in  all  his  glory,  yea !  to  you 

I    say,    was    never    greater.       Through    and    through 
The  land  he  hunted,  seeking  all  things  rare. 

Ne'er  greater  king  reigned  o'er  Jerusalem  ! 

And  yet,  O  Preacher !   crowned  with  carcanet 
Of  pearls  of  price,  an  envied  diadem 

Of  glory,  where  's  the  beggar  you  have  met 
Whose  footstep  was  not  lighter?  whose  leal  soul 
Had  not  its  own  Venitian  barcarolle? 


•20  INTIMATIONS   <>K   HEAVEN 

XXVI. 

He  gathered  silver,  gold ;   and  of  the  kings 
Around,  all  treasures  that  peculiar  were 
To  such,  he  gathered.      Nothing  did  deter 

Him ;    for  this  man  would  have  all  earthy  things. 

And  maids  of  beauty  with  their  sparkling  rings 
Of  love;  and  singers  rare,  and  lutes  that  stir 
The  harmonies  within  us.     Juniper 

In  whorls  of  threes,  and  knot  that  flies  and  sings. 

And  yet  was  woe  across  his  fields ;   his  house 

A  palace  e'en,  was  not  a  Paradise  ; 
He  envied  men  ;   and  e'en  the  little  mouse 

Nibbling  forbidden  meal.     Yet  handsome  Nice 
With  whirling  dust,  or  any  city  far, 
Had  been  to  him  a  brighter  rising  star. 

XXVII. 

So  I  was  great.  My  God  !  And  yet  he  cried  : 
Vanity  !  O  build  me  pleasure-houses  rare 
As  Aidenn,  and  a  fabric  make  me  fair 

As  Barberini  Palaces ;  and  dyed 

In  dyes  of  gods,  new  osier  baskets  ;  wide 
As  love  or  heaven  raise  my  castle  there. 
And  make  me  pontificial,  and  my  prayer : 

O  this  is  all  for  which  I  sigh,  have  sighed  ! 

But,  happy  builder,  architect  divine, 

Thy  structure  lacketh  in  its  chiefest  part ! 

It  has  the  arabesque,  the  curved  line, 

But  O  't  is  cold.  It  lacks  a  human  heart ! 

And  so  I  turn  me  to  my  cottage  home, 

And  love  will  king  me  like  a  king  of  Rome. 


INTIMATIONS   OK    HEAVKN  21 

XXVIII. 

His  heart  rejoiced.      But  list  his  varied  tale 

Of  interchanging  joys.      His  eyes  desired  ; 

And  craved  his  heart ;   and  so  to  him  transpired 

A  tale  worth  telling.      But,  ah  me  !   a  wail, 

A  rich  man's  sigh,  comes  o'er  the  intervale 

Where  tropic  roses  bloom.      He  had  aspired 
To  all  things  meet.      But  now  he  has  retired 

To  arbor  nook.      But  care  has  made  him  pale. 

And  yet  how  great  he  was  !      All  maids  of  song, 

And  instruments  attuned  rare,  and  bards 
Of  genius,  aye!   a  multitude,  a  throng. 

Of  rosy-footed  joys,  and  flowers  from  yards 
Of  Eden  flocked  round  ;   and  yet  he  said  : 
All 's  vanity  !      Better  far  that  I  were  dead. 

XXIX. 

And  then  I  looked  on  all  the  works  my  hands 

Had  wrought,  and  all  my  labors.     But,  ah  me, 
Ah  me  !      He  found  no  pleasure.      O'er  the  sea 

A  ragged  sailor  starteth  home.     The  bands 

Of  love,  a  mother's  ;  and  the  golden  strands 

Of  love,  a  sweetheart's,  draw  him,  make  him  free 
Of  spirit,  and  he  smiles.      His  bended  knee 

Is  holy  as  he  strikes  the  shining  sands. 

And  he  was  poor,  but  richer  than  a  king, 

And  he  was  rich,  but  poor  as  poor  could  be, 

For  one  alone  the  whole  year  long  was  spring, 
For  one  the  days  went  tossing  like  the  sea 

On  rocky  shores  ;   since  one  had  bargained  for 

His  peace,  the  other's  came  by  natural  law. 


22  IXTI.MATIONS   OK   J1KAVEX 

XXX. 

And  madness,  wisdom,  folly.     These  to  him 
Were  potent.      But  O  -such  discouragement 
In  all  his  life.      Had  he  a  man's  intent 

Who  loveth  love,  and  God.  and  genii  dim 

Are  never  floating  o'er  him  black  and  grim 

In  midnight's  solemn  hour,  he  had  not  bent 
With  gilded  woe.      And,  all  !    he  had  not  lent 

His  goodliest  davs  to  follv's  nacent  whim. 

And  yet  he  saw  his  life  mistake  ;   so.  ay  '. 

More  bitter  grew  his  bitterness  :   no  thing 

As  wholly  new  as  life  could  monev  buy  ; 

All  things  had  been  :   in  fall  and  purple  spring 

He  found  no  newness.      Thousand  vears  before 

As  kinglv  kings  had  done  his  doings  o'er. 

XXXI. 

His  dust  may  be  my  valid  self.      But  I 

Am  speaking  from  a  heart  that  loveth  gold 
That  it  may  clothe  the  poor,  not  build  me  old 

High  turret  castles,  that  the  passer-by 

Will  halt  and  worship,  as  beneath  the  sky 

It  glimmers  to  the  morning.      O'er  the  wold 
I  've  seen  me  catafalques,  and  bells  have  tolled 

For  what?     Alas  !   for  rich  man  that  did  die. 

Oh  give  me  bags  of  gold,  the  wealth  of  Ind  : 

But  give  me  sweet  Valhalla  maidens,  yea  ! 
To  scatter  my  great  wealth.     For  I  had  sinned 

Against  myself,  had  beggars  by  the  wax- 
Seen  useless  millions  in  my  strained  purse. — 
But  don't  misunderstand  me  in  in v  verse. 


INTIMATIONS   Ot    HEAVEN  23 

XXXII. 

O  great  ecclesiarch,  I  envy  thee 

Thy  wisdom  !      Folly  had  a  reason,  nay ! 
And  darkness ;   a  great  governor  or  Bey 

In  Turkish  lands;   the  earth;   and  roaring  sea 

In  its  eternal  restlessness ;   the  bee 

On  wayside  flowers  ;   and  in  the  shining  way 
Of  love,  bride-garlands.     Preacher,  yea  and  yea, 

Thou  sawest  all,  but  peace  flew  far  away. 

With  dirty  urchins,  one,  and  two,  and  four, 
I  've  seen  a  beggar  king  upon  this  throne 

Of  love  and  home,  suggestions  of  that  shore 
Where  life's  eternal,  not  a  tare  is  sown ! 

So  who  will  tell  me  wealth  means  happiness? 

That  it  will  clothe  us  like  a  papist's  dress? 

XXXIII. 

And  so  the  earth-fool  is  as  I?     We  die 

The  death  of  life  ;  but  I  am  wiser  far  ; 

O'er  him  I  am  as  some  resplendent  star; 
Some  shining  glorv  ;   gemmed  tiaras  lie 
Close  at  my  feet ;   the  pageants  passing  by 

Are  unto  me  ;   that  gaudy  chariot  car 

With  trumpets  blown  and   songs,   sweeps  down  afar, 
For  I  am  king,  and  likened  to  Most  High  ! 

But  no  procession  passeth  for  the  fool  ; 

And  yet  the  pageant 's  soon  forgot,  the  herse 
With  tasseled  horses;   in  the  wayside  pool 

Throw  veiny  pebble  ;   such  the  rich  man's  verse  ! 
The  rich  and  poor  have  each  the  same  earth  breath, 
But  who  shall  draw  the  line  between  their  death  ? 


•24  INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN 

XXXIV. 

The  high  and  low  arc  soon  forgot,  unless 

A  touch  of  heaven  does  link  us  unto  Him  '. 
For  I,  and  hear  me,  tho'  the  thing  be  dim, 

Dare  say  in  all  this  age's  worldliness, 

There  is  a  God  !      So  don  thy  spotless  dress, 

And  dare  be  brave  where  armed  Doubt  is  grim, 
And  isms  ;   for  Heaven  is  no  new  poet's  whim, 

But  fact !      So,  bow  the  knee,  and  dare  confess. 

For  look  ye  in  the  lives  of  infidels, 

And  look  ye  in  the  lives  of  those  that  doubt ; 
The  first  is  but  a  life  of  sad  farewells, 

The  second,  very  lamps  of  life  are  out ; 
But  he  who  hopes  bevond  the  mouldered  tomb, 
Sees  Him  of  Olivet  across  the  gloom  ! 

XXXV. 

And  so  he  hated  life  ;   for  vanities 

Upstarted  here  and  there,  and  grevious  were 
His  works  to  him,  and  like  a  whipped  cur 

He  skulked  in  thought.     The  salt  unresting  seas 

Were  not  more  restless.  Wine-cups  to  the  lees 
His  lips  had  quaffed.  Valkyrian,  e'en  her 
Of  Odin,  spear-mark  made,  and  like  a  bur 

It  harrassed  him  and  took  away  his  ease. 

But  blame  him  not,  for  life  had  taught  him  ;  say, 

•  Was  ever  wiser?     Life  to  him  had  been 
A  learned  lesson.     Had  he  gone  astray 

In  doubt,  he  had  not  touched  the  carved  kin 
To  holy  song  ;  but  God  had  made  him  rich 
In  goods,  though  Time  hath  left  no  marble  niche  ! 


INTIMATIONS   OF  HEAVEN  25 

XXXVI. 

He  knew  not  if  a  wise  man  or  a  fool 

Would  reign  o'er  all  his  great  estates ;  and  so 
He  moaned.     Where  lilies    turned  their  whited    blow 
•  To  God,  he  stood  with  folded  arms.      The  cool 

North  breezes  touched  his  cheek.  Sevastopol 
Had  less  contention.  In  a  dream  of  woe 
He  stood,'  but  every  grass-blade  seemed  his  foe  ; 

His  endless  sea  had  dwindled  to  a  pool. 

He  caused  his  heart  despair.      His  labor  vain 
It  seemed,  and  all^his  goodly  acres  round 

Seemed  folly,  since  he  soon  must  cross  the  main, 
Be  buried  in  the  churchyard's  sodden  ground  ; 

I  venture  tears  outglistened  in  his  eye, 

With  wealth  so  much,  at  thought  he  soon  must  die. 

XXXVII. 

His  days  were  sorrow,  and  his  travail  grief, 

His  heart  no  rest.     And  yet  'twas  best  to  eat 
And  drink,  be  merry.      These  to  him  were  sweet 

Savor  to  his  sad  plight.      But  bordered  leaf, 

And  broken  stone  are  trite.     Yet,  Time,  the  thief, 
Has  stolen  name  and  fame.      The  winds  repeat 
The  funeral  dirge.      In  spring  or  summer's  heat, 

We  guess  his  early  history,  for  'tis  brief. 

A  wise  man  wrote  Ecclesiastes.      Stave 

Of  requiem  had  never  been  so  sad  ; 
Ah  '   we  hunt  vainly  for  the  Preacher's  grave  ; 

For  e'en  his  gilded  name  and  all  he  had, 
Are  perished !     Yet  how  little  do  we  seem 
Before  the  greatness  of  this  man  !     I  dream  ! 


20  INTIMATION?    OF    11KAVKN 

XXXVIII. 

Yea,  dream  and  dream  and  dream.      But,  ah  to  me 

Cometh  the  thought :   All  things  have  seasons.   There's 
A  time  to  live,  to  die.     The  ripened  pears 

Are  mellowed  to  their  fall.      Eternity 

Is  wide  as  mercy.     Dread  adversity, 

And  death   have   seasons.       Climb    life's  weary    stairs. 
And  at  the  top  is  death.     A  time  for  cares, 

And  love  and  wine  and  glories  unto  thee. 

A  time  to  kill,  a  time  to  heal,  to  weep 

O'er  death's  intrusion  ;   time  to  laugh  and  mourn, 
For  life  hath  levels,  and  her  roads  are  steep. 

The  heart  will  weary,  every  soul  be  torn  ! 
But  hope  is  radiant,  above  all  woe 
It  spanneth  ever  like  an  endless  bow. 

XXXIX. 

A  time  to  get,  a  time  to  lose,  to  weep  ; 

And  yet  is  life  worth  living.      Pretty  flowers 
Are  strewn  upon  the  grave  of  babes,  and  bowers 

Of  fragrance  rare  are  made  for  them.      Why  keep 

Such  sacred  trait  ?     Because  you  know  the  sleep 

That  binds  their  loveliness,  will  break  in  hours 
Not  far  to  be,  tho'  now  the  black  cloud  lowers, 

And  death  o'ertakes  thy  baby  ere  it  creep. 

And  yet  a  time  to  love,  and  now  if  ever : 

For  never  is  a  holy  mother's  heart 
So  sorely  touched  as  when  death  does  dissever 

Her  from  her  newborn  babe.     The  tear  will  start, 
E'en  when  the  flowers  have  faded  on  its  grave ; 
But  God  that  took  him,  and  'twas  God  that  gave. 


INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN  27 

XL. 

A  time  for  war,  a  time  for  peace.      But  hear  : 
O  love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself.     Let  strife, 
And  battled  field  go  by  the  wall.     The  knife 

Of  internecine  bitterness,  the  spear 

Of  tasseled  knights  be  buried.     Let  the  ear 
Hear  village  hautboy,  and  the  air  be  rife 
With  gladsome  music.      Lead  the  flowerv  wife 

To  scenes  of  loveliness,  and  glad  the  year. 

Put  flowered  housings  on  thy  steed,  and  ride 

To  tune  of  drum  and  fife  ;   but  let  thy  battle 

Be  for  sweet  peace.     The  tally-ho  with  bride 

Head  the  procession.      Let  no  musket  rattle 

On  hostile  field,  and  crown  with  olive  leaf 

The  whole  broad  land,  and  place  a  rose  on  grief. 

XLI. 

Hear  :    Everything  is  beautiful  in  its 

Own  season.     Firstlings  of  the  flock,  the  herd 

In  meditative  days.      Let  lucent  word 
Go  forth  for  hope.      For  time  so  softly  flits 
Across  our  lives  in  its  new  parceled  bits, 

It  seems  the  flitting  of  a  robin-bird, 

A  zephyr  that  a  faded  leaf  has  stirred 
In  winter  nooks.      But  go  where  beauty  sits. 

For  beautv  is  the  queen  of  every  land  ; 

Love  all  things  fair  ;   love  not  the  sombre  weeds 
Of  mourning.      Wipe  the  tear,  and  with  the  hand 

Of  kindliness,  and  to  the  tune  of  reeds, 
Lead  in  all  loveliness,  and  all  things  fair. 
And  veil  with  flowerets  every  home's   despair. 


28  INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEX 

XLII. 

I  saw  the  place  of  judgment.     Ah  !   't  is  well : 
The  good  man's  judged  already.     Only  fear 
Is  to  the  wicked.     Be  ye  of  good  cheer, 

And  smooth  the  wrinkles  from  thy  face.     I  tell 

Thee  He  is  coming !      Let  no  infidel 

Dethrone  thy  hope ;  for  even  he  on  mere 
Of  death,  will  look  to  God  with  falling  tear, 

And  Jesus'  name  be  in  his  last  farewell. 

Judge  men  by  deeds,  and  not  by  bandied  word  ; 

Let  sense  prevail,  and  he  that  takes  thy  hope, 
Forget  his  name.  Go  seek  the  singing  bird 

In  pastures  new  ;  climb  up  the  flowery  slope 
That  leads  to  heaven,  and  dare  be  true  and  brave, 
E'en  at  the  open  mouth  of  thy  child's  grave. 

XLIII. 

The  beast  and  I  the  same  earth  breath  ?     And  yet 
I  dare  be  more,  dare  imitate  the  One 
Who  made  the  stars,  the  slave,  the  Scythian  Hun 

Who  conquered  old  Pannonia ;   who  set 

The  rainbow  in  the  sky  ;  who  '11  not  forget 

The  sparrow  in  its  fall ;  who  sent  his  Son 
To  die  for  us.     Dare  do  as  He  hath  done. 

And  rise  o'er  beasts  like  towering  minaret. 

For  e'en  tho'  death  should  be  the  end,  'tis  better 
To  rise  with  glory  like  a  star,  and  shine 

With  splendor.  Dare  to  break  the  rusting  fetter 
That  binds  our  lives  to  doubt.  Oh  be  divine, 

And  when  the  last  great  hour  shall  come  to  thee, 

Thy  earth-reward  be  hope,  not  vanity  ! 


INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN  29 

XLIV. 

Yea,  all  will  turn  to  dust.     But  of  the  pure 

Are  lilies  made.     But  dust  to  dust !     Be  wise 
As  serpents  ;  't  is  the  spirit  on  emprise 

Of  valor,  rising  like  an  incense  sure 

Of  God  !     White  Galatea  on  earthy  tour 

Thro'  moulder's  mind,  before  a  thousand  eyes, 
Was  lifeless  in  her  clay.     Snap  not  the  ties 

That  bind.     Be  wary  of  the  Fauns  that  lure. 

Fling  hope  and  love  to  every  home  ;  let  joy 

Dance  nimbly,  timbrel  sound,  and  fiddle  play, 

And  morris-dances  come,  and  maiden  coy, 

And  crimson  sky,  join  in  with  roundelay, 

Till  every  heart  is  full  of  gladness,  hours 

Go  by  like  fairy's  dream  among  the  bowers. 

XLV. 

Yea,  better  is  an  handful  with  a  heart 

Of  quietness,  than  both  hands  full,  with  woe, 
And  discontent ;  so  make  amends  with  foe 

And  enemy,  unselfish  be  in  art 

That  comes  of  wealth.     Give  each  poor  beggar  part, 
And  sleep  shall  come  to  thee  ;   since  as  ye  sow, 
So  shall  ye  reap  ;  and  such  a  sleep,  I  know, 

Will  come  to  thee  as  babe's  in  crowded  mart. 

For  peace  and  sleep  and  happiness  are  more 

Than  gold,  than  hoarded  wealth  ;  for  riches  oft 
Annoy  the  night.      Stand  on  the  rocky  shore 

Of  ocean,  beacon  banner  hold  aloft 
To  threated  ship,  and  such  a  peace  to  thee 
As  gold  has  not  this  side  eternity. 


30  INTIMATION!*   OF   HEAVEN 

XL  VI. 

Go  'mong  thine  orange  groves,  thy  vineyards  rare  ; 
Pick  purple  clusters,  fling  them  to  the  boy 
With  knee-frayed  pants  ;  and  set  life's  rosy  joy 

A-dancing.     Pluck  the  mellow,  yellow  pear 

For  gift  to  rosy  maid  with  golden  hair 

In  wavy  ripples  ;  to  Jack  Tar  :   Ahoy  I 

Come  feast,  Jack  Tar  !      Forget  the  old  bell-buoy, 

And  breakers,  and  our  pristine  homage  share. 

For  giving  makes  a  man.     And  he  is  king 

Who  's  king  of  self.     This  life  is  but  a  span  ; 

If  some  to  spare,  outdo  the  blooming  spring 

In  glad  abundance.      Laurel  old  King  Pan, 

And  make  him  plav  a  rural  ditty  sweet 

As  love,  and  all  the  zephyrs  will  repeat. 

XLVIL 

Put  spangles  in  her  hair;  twine  chains  of  gold 
Around  her  neck,  embroider  every  doubt 
With  starry  loveliness ;  throw  each  hand  out 

With  gladsome  fullness  ;   dance  across  the  wold 

Among  the  daisies  ;   let  all  stories  told 

By  sweet  new  dabsters  all  along  life's  route, 
Be  told  again  ;  and  kiss  away  the  pout 

Of  beauty,  and  joys  will  be  manifold. 

I  'm  here  to  laugh  and  not  to  cry.      The  tear, 

Ah  me  !   let  teardrops  come  from  happiness  ; 

Have  hope.     Don't  make  this  life  a  funeral  bier, 
But  clothe  thyself  with  joy  and  loveliness  ; 

And  fill  the  whole  great  world  with  gladsome  song, 

And  shower  with  flowers  the  world's  great  surging  throng. 


INTIMATIONS   OF  HEAVEN  31 

XL  VI II. 

I  'in  sick  of  sadness.      Tell  me  of  delights 

In  shady  nooks,  and  take  me  bosky  ways 
Of  dewy  freshness,  where  the  lightsome  fays 

Dance  on  the  green  in  cloudless  starrv  nights. 

With  merry  lads  and  lassies,  pursy  wights 

In  life's  gray  prime,  where  song  and  voweled  lays 
Sweeten  and  harmonize  the  soul;   for  davs 

Are  flitting  fast.      So,  come  !      Enjoy  the  sights. 

Make  gardens  ;   bury  up  the  earth  in  flowers 

Of  beauty,  garlands  make  as  nattily 
Arranged  as  bridy  dreams  ;  and  laurel  hours, 

And  minutes,  seconds,  and  as  prettilv 
As  ever  flowery  bride  ;   for  hear  me  now, 
I  'd  place  a  crown  on  everv  being's  brow. 


For  once  you  lose  desire ;   ah  me,  ah  me  ! 

The  grasshopper  shall  be  a  burden,  things 
That  once  were  thy  delight,  will  take  the  wings 

Of  morning;   and  thy  friends  will  be  to  thee 

As  naught ;   for  now  thou  thinkest  of  the  Sea 

'Twixt  Him  and  thee :   and  other  summers,  springs, 
Are  nothing  now  !      Now  nothing  pleasure  brings, 

But,  sans  desire,  from  earth  you  'd  gladly  flee. 

For  now  like  throneless  patriarch  of  Rome, 
Your  mind  is  busy  with  the  future  state. 

Because  thou  goest  soon  to  thy  long  Home, 

And  clear  old  memories  cannot  make  you  wait : 

For  earth  is  fading  like  a  bitter  dream, 

But  e'en  thro'  death  thou  seest  the  great  throne  gleam  ! 


32  INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN 

L. 

The  son  of  David,  he  hath  said  these  things 
Of  beauty,  wisdom,  to  another  time, 
Now  faded  out  like  some  old  poet's  rhyme 

That  echoed  with  a  great  heart's  questionings 

Of  busier  life  and  death,  when  other  springs 
And  winters  hoar,  in  far  and  elder  clime, 
Were  pregnant  with  the  great  God  music-chime 

That  only  the  divinest  poet  sings. 

And  yet  today  a  new  world  scans  the  pages 
Of  gray  old  life,  to  gather  from  their  lore 

And  spoils  of  years,  the  mystery  of  the  ages 
That  only  on  that  far  unknowable  Shore 

Is  sure  revealed.     And  yet  we  may  not  grope, 

For,  at  the  end  of  every  life  is  Hope ! 

LI. 

To  some  this  life  is  full  of  vanities ; 

To  others  rainbows  span  from  shore  to  shore ; 

And  one  may  mourn  his  love,  his  lost  Lenore  ; 
And  one  may  fill  his  life  with  charities ; 
And  two  may  wed  and  find  Idalian  Dees ; 

And  one  may  walk  alone  and  bravely  soar 

Across  the  mountains ;  others  may  adore 
The  Being  smiling  over  sapphire  seas. 

But,  high  or  low,  no  theologic  doubt, 

When  grimy  death  draws  near,  can  take  our  hope  ;- 
For,  hear :     'Tis  hard  to  put  our  God-lamp  out, 

E'en  though  in  bitter  darkness  we  may  grope ; 
Since  over  all  our  life's  great  weal  and  woe 
Ever,  forever  spanneth  heaven's  bright  bow ! 


INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN  33 

LII. 

And  so  the  Preacher  may  not  have  a  grave, 

No  mausoleum  of  Carrara  stone ; 

And  yet  the  ages  heard  his  great  voice  tone, 
Tho'  poet  sing  his  sad  funereal  stave 
As  over  one  who  lived.     So,  do  not  rave ; 

For  though  he  sleepeth  in  white  death  alone, 

Nor  any  note  of  lyre  or  voiced  phone, 
Still  let  the  pleasant  grasses  o'er  him  wave. 

His  golden  words  are  ours.      But  vanity 

Shall  fade  away  like  some  distorted  dream 

Of  Hades,  and  across  his  widening  sea 

We  still  shall  sail  to  him,  the  bright  white  gleam 

Upon  our  sails,  reflect  the  loveliness 

Of  his  great  life  that  came  from  God  to  bless. 

Lin. 

One  generation  passes ;  graves  are  wide 

And  yawning.     Yet,   and  yet  the  bridegroom  comes 

Arrayed  with  beauty.     Birds  still  peck  the  crumbs. 
And  like  a  rainbow  cometh  life's  new  bride, 
And  with  a  rosy  in  the  eventide 

A  little  ditty  or  a  carol  hums, 

And  Cupid  does  his  hymeneal  sums. 
And  smiles  between  them  when  the  knot  is  tied. 

So,  generations  go,  but  others  come ; 

And  these  will  pass  like  panoramic  dream ; 
And  yet  the  earth  remains.     The  busy  hum 

Of  life  is  in  the  valley.     Yet  the  stream 
Of  death  is  ever  winding  to  the  grave: 
But  even  there,  let 's  sing  our  life's  best  stave ! 


34  INTIMATION 5   OK   HKAVKN 

LIV. 

For  singing  makes  the  glory  of  the  sky 

Even  more  glorious,  gives  a  rare  new  song 
To  busy  earth,  and  glads  the  passing  throng 

With  reminiscent  ecstasy  ;   for  I 

Would  add  a  tint,  a  hue,  a  trancing  dye 

To  every  field,  and  touch  the  golden  gong 
To  lyric  melody,  the  riddle  plong 

And  pling,  as  life's  procession  passeth  by. 

So,  come  fair  nymphs,  and  maids  of  Plato  love, 
And  lads  and  lassies  full  of  music  rare ; 

Descend  ye  glowing  Nine,  while  stars  above 
Twinkle  in  beauty,  and  the  cooling  air 

From  southern  climes,  soft  woos  our  willing  cheek 

Till  we  are  pure  as  stone-entranced  Greek. 

LV. 

The  sun  will  rise,  and  vet  he  will  go  down 
And  leave  a  glory  on  the  western  hills, 
A  pure  white  loveliness  upon  the  rills, 

And  in  a  farewell  twilight  to  the  town, 

Slow  fade  in  beauty.     Not  a  passing  frown, 

But  wreathed  in  smiles:   for  over  woes  and  ills 
I  'd  spread  a  texture  lovelv,  wove  in  mills 

Of  gods,  and  coronaled  by  flowery  crown. 

For  I  would  add  a  color  to  the  bow 

That  spans  the  storm,  a  hue  to  lilies  white 

In  odorous  valleys  ;  and  with  Cupid  go 

To  music-lands,  and  'neath  the  German  night, 

Lit  up  by  stars,  cry  out :   "Another  song  ! 

Fill  up  the  glad  red  beaker  to  the  throng!" 


INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN  35 

LVI. 

The  wind  may  sail  away  to  southern  vales 

Of  sweet  cleliciousness,  and  not  return  ; 

But  I  will  place  a  rosy  on  her  urn, 
And  let  a  teardrop  fall  where  Zephyr  wails 
Among  her  funeral  lilies,  say:   "Sweet  gales, 

Enwaft  my  love  to  her,  and  with  the  hern 

From  Scottish  Dees,  and  all  her  beauty  turn 
Angelic,  breathe  upon  my  placid  sails." 

For  winds  may  go,  and  death  may  come,  but  I 

Shall  grasp  the  promise  of  the  clouds  ;   the  tear, 

Ah  me,  that  comes  unbidden,  and  the  sigh 

Shall  pass  avvav  ;   for  faint  and  far,  but  clear, 

There  shines  a  halo  with  a  hope  to   me 

That  spans  across  the  great  Eternity  ! 

LVII. 

The  streams  may  surge  and  join  the  great  blue  sea ; 

My  ships  with  bellied  sails  may  blow  away ; 

My  soaring  lark  may  vanish  with  his  lay, 
And  yet  my  heart-song  still  remains  to  me ; 
For  though  the  earth  pass  on,  eternity 

Remains ;   and  though  I  own  the  earth  today, 

'Tis  nothing  if  the  bright  and  starry  Way 
Is  hid,  I  cannot  say  :    "•!  go  to  Thee!" 

For  though  I  paint  me  splendors  in  my  halls, 
And  build  me  arches  groined  to  the  clouds, 

In  marble  basins  have  me  waterfalls, 

I  cannot  hide  from  thee  the  clinging  shrouds. 

But  walk  a  living  Superstition  vast, 

Until  the  disembodied  soul  has  passed ! 


36  INTIMATION?   OF   HEAVEN 

LVIII. 

No  man  may  utter  all  the  thoughts  that  lie 

Hidden  within  his  being ;  and  the  ear 

Is  still  unsatisfied  ;     and  year  on  year 
Goes  unrewarded  till  his  heart  and  eye 
Give  up  the  quest,  and  earth  and  moonless  sky 

Pass  onward  unrecorded  ;  yet  as  clear 

As  clarion  morn  or  lusty  chanticleer, 
The  Morn  of  morns  shines  out  to  you  and  I. 

But,  will  we  learn  ?     Ah  me  !  the  golden  god 
We  build,  and  shining  monuments  upraise 

Against  the  stars  ;  the  pontificial  rod 

We  kiss,  and  strut  a  king  of  passing  days  ; 

And  yet  a  tinsel  potentate,  ah  me  ! 

Of  earth,  but  not  the  great  Eternity. 

LIX. 

My  song  is  but  a  repetition  ;   1 

May  strike  the  lyre,  the  voweled  notes  are  dim 

In  unremembered  ages;   raise  to  Him 
A  paeon  of  triumphal  praise ;   the  sky 
In  vaulted  glory  in  that  other  by 

And  by  re-echoed  it ;  a  spectre  grim 

Arises  from  the  past  with  every  whim 
And  trick,  that  last  resolve  to  you  and  I. 

And  yet  is  repetition  sweet  to  me  ; 

For  thus  I  win  my  rosy  back  again, 
My  ox-eye  daisy  down  across  the  lea  ; 

And    spring    will    come    and    summer    too,  and  when 
Old  Winter  comes  to  every  soft  retreat, 
I  know  that  spring  her  beauties  will  repeat. 


INTIMATIONS   OF  HEAVEN  37 

LX. 

But,  is  it  new  ?     A  Whitman  grand  and  gray, 

The  good  gray  bard  of  Camden-side,  essayed 
A  metre  new  in  language  great  arrayed ; 

And  so  the  world  has  lost  a  Poet's  lay 

That  might  have  echoed  to  the  farthest  day  ; 

For   great   Miltonic    thoughts    were    there    displayed, 
With  Emersonian  grandeur.     Muses  prayed  : 

4>O  take  us  through  the  old  accustomed  way!" 

But  nay  and  nay,  with  language  of  a  god, 

A  meaning  vast  as  Avon's  tragic  bard, 
The  sceptre  in  his  hand,  Apollo's  rod, 

The  good  gray  poet  is  uncrowned,  unstarred ! 
And  yet  his  numbers  were  a  battle-ode ; — 
He  was  too  vast  for  such  an  earth  abode ! 

LXI. 

There  's  no  remembrance  !     In  the  elder  times 

Now  unremembered,  did  the  great  God  reign 
In  glory  r  was  there  such  a  Cuba  ?  Spain  ? 

A  British  empire  ?    undiscovered  climes  ? 

The  master  verse  ?  the  bardling's  halting  rhymes  ? 
Did  hostile  falchions  glitter  on  the  plain? 
Were  ever  such  disasters  as  the  Maine  ? — 

Upon  our  newest  fad  the  ivy  climbs ! 

And  yet  I  would  remember  other  days ; 

The  old  associations,  bygone  hours ; 
The  old  familiar  faces,  and  the  ways 

Our  fathers  knew ;  go  backward  to  the  bowers 
Where  dewy  love  first  told  his  new  old  tale, 
And  birds  sang  love  to  every  intervale. 


38  INTIMATIONS   OK   1IKAVKX 

LXII. 

Yea,  over  Israel  he  was  a  king ! 

But  who  can  point  his  place  of  sepulchre  ? 

Ah!   was  it  Solomon?     I  dare  demur; 
Koheleth  !  rise  and  end  this  questioning; 
But  through  the  winter  and  the  passing  spring 

The  silence  is  unbroken.     Juniper, 

Anemone,  or  e'en  the  bitter  myrrh. 
May  know  his  grave,  or  birds  that  fly  and  sing ! 

kkYea,  I  was  king  o'er  Israel  !"     O  son 

Of  David? — But  the  voice  is  hushed  for  aye; 

And  yet,  Koheleth,  were  you  Solomon? 
The  god  of  wisdom  in  that  elder  day  ? 

But  Grotius  denies  it;   wherefore  we 

To  bandy  or  impeach  his  sovereignty  ? 

LXII  I. 

And  though  he  sought  all  wisdom  in  the  earth, 
And  in  the  great  dividing  sea,  in  lands 
Beyond  the  sea,  and  where  the  golden  sands 

Exposed  their  granulations,  where  the  birth 

Of  kings  took  place,  and  men  of  drink  and  mirth 
Made  merry  nights,  and  gray  old  Morris  bands 
Danced  light  fandangos  on  the  babbling  strands, 

He  moaned  his  fate  ;   for  in  his  life  was  dearth. 

And  yet  the  great  One  reigning  far,  unseen, 
The  Ruler  of  the  earth,  he  ever  held 

In  highest  estimation,  more  than  queen 

Or  reigning  king;   and  from  the  lore  of  eld 

Brought  magic  splendors  to  enhance  this  One, 

The  Father  who  would  give  his  only  son. 


INTIMATION?   OF   HEAVEN  39 

LXIV. 

Yet,  Septuagint !   his  name  we  dare  dispute 

With  lore  of  ages.      Was  he  Persian?     Where, 
Where  did  he  reign?     And  was  he  David's  heir 

Apparent  to  the  throne?     All  tongues  are  mute; 

No  language  such  strange  figures  can  compute  ; 
And  so  the  Maccabees  may  sway  ;  for  there 
By  Hartmann  he  is  placed  :   and  yet  I  dare 

Name  him  the  man  the  very  heavens  can  suit. 

For  out  of  all  his  toil  and  moil  and  woe, 

He  rises  like  a  star,  and  points  on  high. 
The  realm  of  peace,  where  Hope's  o'erarching  bow 

Resplendent  shines  across  the  great  wide  sky, 
And  tells  us  if  we  penetrate  the  night, 
Behind  it  all  the  great  sun  shineth  bright ! 

LXV. 

Accept  the  crooked  things  of  life,  and  be 

A  happy  ministrant  to  every  ail; 

Go  pick  the  flowers  beside  the  babbling  vale ; 
Send  out  your  ships  up®n  the  restless  sea ; 
Plant  shrub  and  vine  and  flower  and  cedar  t'-ee 

On  all  thy  slopes,  and  in  the  intervale 

Place  mirrored  lake,  and  on  it  silver  sail, 
And  romp  with  nature  in  her  rarity  ! 

For  purity  and  nature's  rare  delights 

Oft  come  of  suffering;   so  weal  and  woe. 

And  bitter  days,  make  pictures  in  the  nights 

With  Titian  moonbeams,  and  the  gamboling  doe 

And  swift  gazelle ;   for  hearts  that  are  not  tried 

A  manv  a  lovelv  blessing  is  denied. 


40  INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN 

LXVI. 

Let  knowledge,  love  and  wisdom  come  to  thee  ; 

Let  fine  appreciation  grace  thy  mind ; 

Find  beauty  in  the  meadow,  and  the  wind 
That  plays  a  ditty  in  old  nooks ;   agree 
With  nature ;   hold  thy  natal  liberty 

For  aye,  and  love  the  earth  and  be  resigned 

To  life,  to  all ;   and  once  you  are  refined 
As  gold,  your  life  will  babble  like  a  Dee. 

For  songs  within  the  heart  can  never  die  ; 

And    e'en    when    death    has  come  to  thee    and  thine, 
The  old  songs  will  re-echo  like  a  Wye 

On  English  meads,  and  coarser  ones  refine: 
The  Cotter's  Night  in  Burns's  canty  rhymes. 
Still  echoes  with  the  ingle's  merry  chimes. 

LXVII. 

Wisdom  and  grief  go  hand  in  hand.     We  look 

On    frescoed    walls   where   art   has  reigned.     We  see 

The  palace  ships  in  freighted  majesty ; 
We  stand  in  \vonder  by  some  pearly  brook  ; 
We  read  old  nature  like  an  open  book ; 

In  awe  we  stand  beside  the  great  wide  sea ; 

A  crannied  flower  has  piqued  us ;   far  and  free 
The  winds  have  come  from  some  deserted  nook. 

A  blade  of  grass  has  dashed  our  wisdom  down  ; 

A  twittering  bird  has  held  our  learning  up ; 
We  cannot  cross  our  rural,  native  town, 

But  mysteries  shine  within  the  daisy's  cup ; 
So,  wisdom  gives  a  certain  kind  of  grief ; 
I  am  dumfounded  at  a  mouldered  leaf ! 


INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN  41 

LXVIII. 

But  I  will  prove  with  mirth  this  world  of  ours, 

With  shining  star  and  horned  moon  ;   with  bird 
And  flower,  the  lambkins  and  the  pasture  herd 

Feeding  upon  the  slopes.      So,  Bacchus,  towers 

Of  grapes  to  thee  ;   come,  Ida,  to  our  bowers. 

And  we  will  sing  the  wine-song  Bacchus  stirred 
To  revelry,  the  juicy-tipped  word. 

With  purple  grapes  distilling  winy  showers. 

Since  mirth  is  mine  ;  I  '11  be  a  happy  wight, 

Tho'  tasseled  horses  draw  my  lady's  hearse ; 

For  even  then  the  stars  will  splash  the  night. 

Since  death  has  won  an  angel.  Sweet  and  terse  : 

kkAnd  death  has  ta'en  her  to  the  highest  star! 

But  death  has  ta'en  her  where  the  angels  are !" 

LXIX. 

And  laughter,  what  of  it  ?     'T  is  savor  rare 

Of  aching  gout;   it  is  a  poppy  pill 

To  drowse  you  sweetly  in  a  Lethe  rill : 
It  drives  the  man  of  saddle-bags.      So  fair. 
So  pouting  sweet  and  softly  debonair 

It  makes  the  rosy  maid ;   you  pause  to  fill 

Your  life's  best  being,  feast  upon  her  still, 
Yea,  feast  upon  her  face,  her  sparkling  hair. 

So,  court  the  god  of  laughter ;  woo  the  maid 

Who    smiles    the  whole  year  round;   be  good  to  her; 

For  she  's  a  sylph  in  ecstasy  arrayed ; 

The  lovely  nightingale  may  sing  and  whir : 

The  lark  of  morn  may  soar  afar;   but  she? 

She  's  Queen  of  everlasting  Jollity  ! 


12  INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN 

LXX. 

And  did  I  say  I  'd  give  myself  to  wine  ? 

And  say  I  'd  pull  the  purple  clusters  down 

From    mossy  nook?      That  I  would    hide    my  frown 

In  flushes  of  the  grape?     That  wine  's  divine  ! 

That  it  can  beautify  a  friend  of  mine. 

And  make  him  finer  than  he  is  ?     Renown, 
Imagined  kingdoms  it  can  make  ;   can  drown 

The  bitter  soul,  send  boating  on  the  Tyne. 

So,  pull  the  purple  clusters!      Drink  not  deep, 
But  just  enough,  my  pard,  to  sweeten  thee ; 

And  just  enough,  perchance,  to  make  thee  leap 

With  joy.      But,  nay  !      The  breakers  of  the  sea 

Are  in  the  red  wine  cup  !     So,  have  a  care, 

The  red,  red  wine  may  turn  thee  to  despair; 


I  builded  houses  ;  I  'd  the  wherewithal 

To  make  a  name  on  earth,  a  money-king; 

A  prince  of  princedoms  ;   gods  should  touch  the  string 

On  harp  of  gold  ;   and  arched  room  and  hall 

Should  echo  music,  till  a  drowsing  thrall 

With  murmured  meanings,  birds  with   sparkling  wing 
In  slumberous  tune,  should  soft  and  drowsily  cling 

To  pictured  nook,  to  pictures  on  the  wall. 

But,  ah  !   is  tinsel  beauty  such  to  him  ? 

Can  money  buy  the  dearest  peace  he  craves? 
I  see  a  spectre  disembodied,  dim  ! 

I  see  a  sexton  !      Is  he  digging  graves? 
Alas,  alas,  can  wine  and  money  buy 
God's  kingdom  ?     No  !      For  I  am  ever  I  ! 


INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN'  43 

LXXII. 

O  make  ye  orchards  ;   raise  the  lucious  fruit ; 

Put  borders  on  thy  gardens ;   train  the  vine 

On  mossy  arbor  ;  make  old  earth  divine  ; 
Place  marble  Cupids  by  a  winding  chute 
Lined  with  flowers,  and  statues  sculptured  mute 

As  new  first  love,  uprear  in  tastv  line, 

So  poet  eye,  enraptured  by  the  Nine, 
May  find  it  Eden,  rare  and  lush  and  cute. 

And  yet  is  happiness  within  the  heart ; 

You  cannot  wrin  the  bulbul's  gladsome  song 
In  barred  cage  ;  you  bury  dross  in  art 

Of  Raphaels,  yet  this  you  is  you  !      The  throng 
Carl  read  your  heart  in  every  line !      Bright  gold 
Can  never  cover  sores  or  wrinkles  old ! 

LXXIII. 

With  artificial  pools,  the  haunts  of  fish 

Of  varied  hue,  you  may  enhance  your  place 

Of  earthly  habitation  ;  yet  your  face, 
The  index  of  your  mind,  will  show  the  wish 
Itlnfound  ;  thy  goodly  friends  will  come  ; — but,  psh  ! 

The  vintner,  where  his  vinelets  interlace 

In  lowlv  cottage,  goes  a  better  pace. 
And  has  contentment  in  his  savory  dish. 

So,  spread  your  acres  ;  build  your  turrets  high  ; 

Make  deer-parks  ;   have  a  dainty  hound  or  so  ; 
Make  Michael  splendors  that  shall  glad  the  eye  ; 

But  still  remember  woe  to  you  is  woe, 
That  though  the  purple  cover  with  its  art, 
It  cannot  hide  the  moanings  of  the  heart ! 


44  INTIMATIONS   OK   HEAVKN 

LXXIV. 

Your  servants  may  abound  ;  your  herds  may  line 
The  everlasting  hills  ;  your  heart  may  swell 
With  natal  pride,  and  life's  new  Christmas  bell 

May  ring  out  gladsomely,  and  to  the  eyne 

May  come  the  love  of  flowers  ;  the  curved  sign 
On  marble  bust  of  thee,  (like  rose  in  dell,) 
May  add  a  sweetness,  though  a  faretheewell 

Be  in  the  odor,  end  in  spilled  wine  ! 

But,  hoarded  Wealth,  has  Peace  enshrined  thy  form 
In  happy  wreathlets?     Has  thine  ardent  friend 

Arrayed  thee  like  the  bow  across  the  storm 

In  Springtime?     Do  the  colors  softly  blend 

In  unadorned  art?     O  let  me  lead 

To  thatched  cottage  bordering  on  the  mead  ! 

LXXV. 

And  you  may  gather  silver,  yellow  gold 

From  hidden  mines ;   the  stringed  harps  may  play 
Old  classic  ppems  ;   night  may  shine  like  day 

In  Oriental  pallor  ;  citterns  old 

In  unforgotten  songs,  in  tune  unfold 

Their  music,  flower-boys  wreathed,  join  the  lay. 
Till  many-voiced  maids,  with  cutest  sway, 

Come  hying  from  the  wood  or  English  wold. 

But,  trained  songsters,  can  you  pipe  a  song 

To    hearts    of    gloom  ?       Can    great    magician's    spell 
Of  rapt  enchantment  veil  a  single  wrong 

With  fine  delusion?  Come  across  the  dell  : 
Her  dress  is  scant ;  but  look  down  in  her  heart ; 
Her  song  is  sweet,  but  innocent  of  art ! 


INTIMATIONS  OF  HEAVEN  45 

LXXVI. 

You  may  be  great  to  outward  eye  ;  the  brook 

May  babble  in  your  fields  ;   the  sparkling  trout 
May  shimmer  in  your  pools  ;  the  sloping  route, 

The  winding  path  may  lead  to  osier  nook 

O'er  tilled  field.     And  yet  I  read  your  book 

Of  bordered  gold  ;  but  you  have  blotted  out 
Reality  !     Cute  gold-gods  mime  and  pout ; 

Yet  you  are  you  ;  you  cannot  hide  that  look  ! 

So,  women,  wine  and  tuned  lute  can  not 

Disguise  your  self ;  for  when  my  lady  fades, 

And  wine-cups  cloy,  and  softest  lute  has  caught 
Your  melancholy,  little  shining  blades 

Of  retribution  pierce  your  callous  heart ; 

For  you  are  you  yet,  under  all  your  art ! 

LXXVII. 

Your  heart  may  dandle  every  joy.     But,  come 

With  me,  a  little  runlet  crosses  here  ; 

And  there,  a  natural  lake  is  sparkling  clear ; 
Beside  the  lilacs,  where  the  bees  may  hum, 
A  rustic  grotto  smiles;   with  savory  gum 

Spruces  are  standing ;   lusty  chanticleer 

Pipes  out  his  clarion  to  the  budding  year, 
With  bordering  vine  and  tree  and  rustic  plum. 

And  in  the  midst  a  cottage.     You  and  I 

Would  give  our  wealth  for  such  a  simple  home 

Were  peace  included.      But,  ah  me !   we  sigh 

Because  we  live  in  France  instead  of  Rome; 

Because  our  money  will  not  buy  us  peace ; — 

But  moss  is  on  the  monuments  of  Greece ! 


46  INTIMATIONS   OF  HEAVEN 

LXXVIII. 

But,  is  there  profit  in  the  chase  for  gold? 

The  race  is  to  the  swift.     A  hundred  years 
Will  raze  us  to  the  dust.     Alas  !  our  tears 

Of  life  !  what  mean  they  ?     With  our  arms  we  fold 

A  lovely  child.     A  few  short  years  and  mould 
Is  on  her  tomb.     From  every  shadow  peers 
A  writhing  face,  and  many  a  teardrop  blears 

The  page  of  life ;   and  more  when  hearts  are  sold ! 

So,  fling  your  wealth  in  golden  showers;   lead  love 
And  joy  and  peace  across  your  threshold ;   take 

A  sip  of  nectar  ;  stars  will  shine  above  ; 

Throw  out  your  ducats  for  the  children's  sake ; 

Divide  your  gold  with  love  ;  for  it  will  be 

A  bridge  of  flowers  to  Eternity  ! 

LXXIX. 

So  I  was  great.     Ah  !  great  in  what?     In  lands? 

In  cattle  ?  sheep  ?     I  see  a  mother,  she 

To  me  is  great  in  ideality ! 
He  tunes  his  instruments;  and  noisy  bands, 
With  fifers,  stamping  feet  and  clapping  hands, 

Are  honoring  his  great  glory.     But  to  me 

A  higher  glory  is  that  sovereignty 
That  crowns  a  mother  in  her  life's  new  sands ! 

But  greatness  is  a  thing  of  taste,  a  whim 

That  Fashion  names.     For  one  is  crowned  by  Love, 
And  one  by  Gold,  and  one  by  only  Him 

Who  moves  the  clouds.     I  see  a  star  above  ; 
And  is  it  some  old  dear  departed  guest 
Who  dying  said :   "Thy  will  be  done,  thou  blest!  " 


INTIMATIONS  OF  HEAVEN  47 

LXXX. 

And  he  indulged  in  every  joy  ;   in  art 

With  curved  line  ;  in  architecture  grand 
As  time  had  seen  ;  in  kine  and  fertile  land ; 

In  prancing  stallions.     Yet  how  fared  his  heart  ? 

His  curios  from  every  foreign  mart ; 

His  porcelains  from  distant  shores,  from  strand 
Unknown,  were  beautiful ;  but  hand  in  hand 

Two  lads  are  happier  with  a  broken  cart ! 

And  yet  was  God  an  essence  pure  and  fine 

Amid  his  lavishments  ;  and  tho'  he  cried  : 
"Vanity !  "  he  felt  the  great  One  was  divine, 
And  Him  of  Nazareth  they  crucified ; 

And  yet  his  pleasure-houses  grew  apace, 

And  were  the  rare  embodiments  of  grace. 

LXXXI. 

One  sings  his  Annie  Laurie,  and  is  king ; 

One  pipes  a  ditty  on  an  oaten  reed 

Beneath  the  stars ;  another  mounts  his  steed 
And  rushes  on  to  fame.     I  cannot  sing, 
And  yet  I'm  happy  with  a  fiddler's  string 

And  bow.     Some  pluck  the  daisies  in  the  mead ; 

Some  sit  beneath  the  slanting  sun  and  read 
The  glories  of  the  rainbow  in  the  spring. 

For  one  hath  pleasure  in  an  ambling  pad ; 

And  one  takes  pleasure  in  a  boat  at  sea ; 
Another  still  is  happier  when  he's  sad, 

And  melancholy  days  are  on  the  lea  ; 
For  Autumn  odors  are  like  scented  breath 
To  him.  He  loveth  to  commune  with  Death! 


48  INTIMATIONS   OF  HEAVEN 

LXXXII. 

So,  who  shall  say  that  I  cannot  be  I  ? 

And  who  shall  say  that  you  shall  not  be  you  ? 

One  loves  the  rose ;  but  I  the  mournful  yew  ; 
Some  sail  with  gas  to  find  an  arctic  sky  ; 
And  one  is  ruined  by  a  sparkling  eye  ; 

One  loves  the  i*ose  that's  beaded  in  the  dew ; 

Another  loves  it  faded  !     Skies  are  blue  ; 
And  yet  our  puzzled  life  is  "Why?"  and  "Why?" 

We  never  reach  the  goal  we  set.     We  soar 

Above  the  clouds.     'Twas  but  a  freak  of  will ; 

We  are  brave  Nelsons  when  the  breakers  roar 
Against  the  adamantine  rock.     The  rill 

Has  made  a  river  going  to  the  sea; 

But  you  are  you,  and  we  are  simply  we  ! 

LXXXIII. 

But  I  will  build  a  bridge  of  flower-s  to  God  ; 

For  earth  shall  pass  away.     I  pay  the  toll 

To  death,  and  die.      But  shall  I  lose  mv  soul 
For  fleeting  earth  ?     I  love  the  goldenrod  ; 
I  love  the  flower  that  decks  the  mouldering  sod  ; 

I  love  to  see  Ambition  reach  his  goal ; 

I'm  sad  when  Sidney  Laniers  hearses  roll, 
And  all  my  being  crieth  :    "Maud,  Maud,  Maud  !  " 

So,  here  the  gist:   "O  build  for  heaven  and  earth; 

O  build  thee  mansions  for  the  glowing  skies 
Of  Immortality  ;   make  second  birth 

As  pure  as  vestal  love ;    sith  he  who  dies 
A  child  of  earth  and  heaven  withal,  may  be 
A  kino;  of  kingdoms  in  Eternitv  !" 


INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN  49 

LXXXIV. 

So,  win  this  world,  and  dare  be  true  and  brave, 

Even  when  martial  music  rends  the  air, 

And  people  with  a  wild  theatric  stare 
Lose  sanity.     Earth  is  but  a  monstrous  Grave  ! 
Ah  me  !   our  proudest  flag  may  float  and  wave  ; 

But  Bonapartes  are  thrown.     We  climb  our  stair 

With  tinkling  steps.     And  yet  how  oft  Despair 
Is  at  the  goal,  and  sings  our  funeral  stave ! 

And  yet  I'd  grasp  the  very  stars  ;  for  life 

Is  larger  to  the  curbless  soul.     He  serves 

Who  only  stands  and  waits !     But,  in  the  strife 
I'd  mingle.     Genius  is  a  mass  of  nerves 

In  Foes  !      O  me  !   to  be  without  desire  ; — 

May  Orphean  hands  retouch  the  broken  lyre  ! 

LXXXV. 

His  hand  has  lost  its  cunning.     Dumb  and  dead 

The  great  harp  lies.     No  more  the  master  touch 
Shall  call  the  melody ;   yet  his  art  was  such 

The  heavenly  harmonies  he  seemed  to  wed 

In  such  a  married  cadence  Orpheus  shed 

A  glory  on  his  head.     He  wooed  much 

In  youth  and  prime.     But  now  his  nerveless  touch 

Is  vain  ;  for  all  his  art  had  vanished  ! 

And  yet  he  sang  his  swan-song:   "O'er  the  Bar !  " 
When  Death  was  knocking  at  his  being's  door ; 

He  seemed  to  rise  in  glory  like  a  star ; 

The  Muses  took  his  pen.     "Nay,  nevermore  !  " 

And  England's  magic  singer  passed  away; 

His  ashes  honor  England's  great  Abbaye  ! 


50  INTIMATIONS  OF  HEAVEN 

LXXXVI. 

But  why  palaver?     Who  can  make  a  grain 

Of  mustard?     Yet  we  Ingersolls  have  dared 
To  weigh  the  Universe !     I  had  despaired 

Myself  these  years,  had  not  a  certain  strain 

Of  finite  reason,  told  me  o'er  the  main 

A  Paradise  is  waiting !      I'd  not  cared 

To  live  this  life  of  earth  had  my  mind  shared 

A  Voltaire's  doubt !     For  with  it  life  is  vain. 

But  people  grasp  at  earth.      Long  in  the  night 

The  candle  burns,  and  man  goes  speeding  on 

To  what?     An  earthly  phantom  of  delight 

That  fadeth  with  the  purple  of  the  dawn ; 

At  death  he'd  have  a  pocket  in  his  shroud ! — 

To  die  like  us  he  is  almost  too  proud. 

LXXXVII. 

Leave  city  walls  and  hie  to  rural  vales ; 

Leave  business  cares  and  come  across  to  me ; 

The  city  is  a  dull  satiety ; 

But  come  and  jump  with  me  the  old  moss  rails ; 
Let's  gad  like  boys  thro'  dusky  intervales ; 

For  here  is  Nature  clothed  in  rarity ; 

And  here  is  Nature's  amplest  liberty ; 
The  wildbirds  chorus  with  a  thousand  gales. 

And  then  you'll  think  of  God !      For  He  alone 

Hath  made  the  beechwood  flower,  the  gadding  vine 

In  beauty's  tangled  nooks,  and  on  the  stone 

Placed  mossy  loveliness,  while  lavish  wine 

From  far  ambrosial  lands  outsparkles  red 

Where  thousand  vines  have  over-canopied. 


INTIMATIONS   OF  HEAVEN  51 

LXXXVIII. 

And  these  are  Intimations  of  the  Land 

Beyond  the  stars;   since  everywhere  is  God; 
In  meadow  vale  and  waving  goldenrod ; 

In  woods,  and  old  fence  flowers  on  every  hand  ; 

The  beechen  tree  with  wildly  woven  strand, 
Outdoing  art  in  naturalness.     The  sod 
With  its  commingled  loveliness,  where  nod 

The  wildflowers,  by  the  Southern  zephyrs  fanned. 

And  so  my  song  is  full  of  Intimations 

Of  Heaven,  such  as  every  heart  may  see 
In  vale  and  valley,  in  the  rare  creations 

Of  God  !     And  let  me  say  in  song  to  thee : 
"Win  earth,  and  all  thy  heart  may  rightly  crave; 
But  win  that  other  Life  beyond  the  grave !  " 

LXXXIX. 

How  beautiful  is  Lycidas  in  song! 

How  beautiful  are  flowers  upon  the  walls 
Of  crumbling  abbeys  !     What  fresh  coronals 

Has  Nature  placed  upon  the  grave  of  wrong ! 

Upon  the  grave  of  Pompeys  once  so  strong 
In  glittering  Imperialism  !      But  calls 
The  blackbird  by  a  Caesar's  ruined  halls, 

And  o'er  their  dust  still  tramps  the  Roman  throng ! 

For  Caesars  only  won  the  crown  of  earth  ; 

They  only  wade  thro'  slaughter  to  a  throne ; 
The  widow  with  her  mite  may  win  the  birth 

That  crowns  with  everlasting  life  alone ; 
For  did  she  not  give  more  than  all  the  Jews? 
But  he's  not  best  who  sits  in  costliest  pews. 


52  INTIMATIONS   OF  HEAVEN 


In  In  Memoriam  what  beauty  shines  ! 

In  Adonais  how  the  thought  expands 
In  beauty  !      Lycidas  in  Milton  hands 

Is  rival ;  and  the  English  laureate's  lines 

Still  crowd  them  hard.     For  these  are  Malmsey  wines 
Of  song  to  me.     The  grapes  of  many  lands 
Have  made  their  nectarine.     Love's  golden  strands 

Have  bound  them.     See  him  hidden  in  the  vines  ! 

And  so  the  glory  of  the  sky  is  here 

In  love's  untrammeled  song.     For  Muses  nine 
Caught  splendors  from  the  heavens  above  the  mere  ; 

Put  rhythmic  numbers  in  the  poet's  line, 
Till  such  the  beauty  in  their  pictured  art 
We  tender  love's  best  offerings  of  the  heart. 

XCI. 

Wisdom  excelleth  folly.      Be  ye  wise 

In  preconceived  work,  and  fleeting  Time 
Will  give  thee  lore  from  Oriental  clime 

Where  pearls  may  glitter  to  enraptured  eyes  ; 

Where  God's  great  sun  in  happy,  vaulted  skies, 

Smiles  graciously.     And  hear  the  onward  chime 
Of  never-ceasing  worlds.     And  yet  the  rhyme 

Of  His  new  Paradise  still  hear,  since  lies 

Heaven  forever  at  the  end  of  life  ! 

For  though  ye  win  the  shekels  of  the  gods, 
And  go  about  this  world  in  purple,  strife, 

Contention,  war,  shall  rage  about  thee  ;    sods 
With  Love's  heroic  blood  shall  still  be  red ; 
But  win  the  bay  that  crowns  the  Christian  dead  ! 


INTIMATIONS   OF  HEAVEN 
XCIL 

The  Queen  of  England  !     Here  is  earthly  glory ; 

The  Tsar  of  Russia  !     Here  is  earth  renown  ; 

Our  President  may  wear  Imperial  crown 
And  still  lose  Heaven  !      Our  Gladstone  old  and  hoary 
Is  crowned  by  Love  !      But  Corsicans  are  gory 

In  butchered  blood  !     And  hostile  cannon  drown 

The  cry  of  Pity  !      Some  are  great  in  town ; 
A  Stevenson  is  great  in  tranced  story ! 

And  yet  I'd  call  ye  from  this  vain  Ambition 

To  that  great  Moment  when  the  highest  King 

Must  bow  !     For  Love,  and  Life,  and  white  Contrition, 
Are  more  than  these  !     Yet,  love  the  purple  Spring ; 

The  vagrant  Summer.     But  in  loving  them 

Lose  not  that  never-fading  Diadem  ! 

XCIII. 

Go  under  cooling  stars,  and  walk  amid 

The  quiet  glooms,  and  solitary  be ; 

For  I  would  have  you  touch  Eternity 
Alone  !     Go  seek  the  mouldering  graveyard  hid 
In  tangled  briar ;  not  where  doughty  Cid 

Lies  buried  in  his  pomp,  but  where  the  tree 

And  amorous  vine,  in  wild  serenity, 
Have  made  the  only  earthly  pyramid ! 

The  tangled  brushes  cross  the  path  ;   and  here 

Are  Death  and  old  Neglect !     There's  not  a  friend 

To  place  a  flower,  no  eye  to  drop  the  tear 

Of  sympathy  !      But  who  can  tell  the  end  ! 

For  once  was  beauty  nurtured  here,  the  eye 

Of  Pitv  mutelv  turning  to  the  sky  ! 


54  INTIMATIONS   OF  HEAVEN 

XCIV.   • 

The  mouldering  stones  make  only  trite  appeal 

To  our  humanity  ;   and  Memory 

Has  lost  the  chain,  once  Love  and  Purity 
Welded  with  golden  links.  The  zephyrs  steal 
In  crooning  lullabies  ;  but  can  you  feel 

The  touch  of  love  ?       Some  died  in  Chastity  ! 

But  who  were  they  ?     And  did  they  cross  the  Sea 
Of  jasper?     Only  Heaven  can  reveal ! 

But  pause  amid  this  Desolation.      Here, 
Mayhap,  a  king  is  buried,  or  an  earl 

Who  wore  the  ermine.      Who  will  shed  a  tear 
Above  their  dust?     Red  amethyst  and  pearl, 

Or  nectar  of  the  gods  can  never  save ; 

Find  Heaven,  and  conquer  mystery  of  the  Grave ! 

XCV. 

But  read  ye,  if  ye  may,  the  fate  of  these  ; 

They  joined  the  grand  Procession  to  the  Grave ! 

A  hundred  years,  and  like  an  ocean  wave 
They  vanish  ever,  and  forever !      Seas 
Now  roll  between.      But  fall  upon  thy  knees, 

And  while  the  waters  of  Oblivion  lave 

The  shores  of  Memory,  sing  a  quiet  stave 
To  Death  ;  for  here  he  has  his  sovereignties ! 

And  while  ye  kneel,  O  ask  the  willing  Heart : 
"Is  Earth  or  Heaven  my  Principality?" 

I  do  not  curse  thee,  for  I  love  thine  art ; 
I  love  the  real,  great  Reality 

Of  life.     Yet  earth  shall  crumple  like  scroll ! 

But,  will  you  win  it  and  lose  your  own  soul  ? 


INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN  55 

XCVL 

I  love  to  hear  the  harp  in  quiet  days ; 

I  love  to  hear  the  birds  in  jargonings 

Of  song ;  the  crows  in  guttural  caws  in  Spring's 
New  life ;   I  love  to  hear  the  blackbird's  lays 
Among  the  wakening  hiils  ;   I  love  the  ways 

Of  happy  childhood  ;   and  the  whirring  wings 

Of  migratory  birds  a  memory  brings 
To  me  of  ever-vanished  yesterdays  ! 

And  yet  I  dream  my  dreams,  and  visions  chase 
Each  other  through  the  channels  of  delight 

That  lead  to  Him  !     For  there  I  see  His  face 
A  shining  glory  !      Far  across  the  night 

My  vision  is  a  vision  unto  me 

Where  reigns  the  Nazarene  of  Galilee  ! 

XCVII. 

I  love  the  earth ;   how  beautiful  to  me 

No  muse  can  tell ;  I  love  the  babbling  brook 
That  stealeth  to  the  sea ;   I  love  to  look 

At  emerald  breakers  dashing  from  the  sea 

In  organ  cannonade  with  majesty  ; 

I  climb  the  hills,  and  like  an  open  book 
I  read  the  page  of  Nature.      On  his  crook 

A  shepherd  leans  in  rapt  tranquillity. 

And  these  are  pictures  that  have  chained  my  heart 

To  earth  !      And  sometimes  comes  the  thought  to  me  : 

"How  can  this  Heaven  be  lovelier?"     For  art 
And  Nature,  masterly  and  curiously, 

Have  made  our  earth  so  beautiful,  I  say: 

"Can  Paradise  be  fairer  in  that  Day?" 


56  INTIMATIONS    OF   HEAVEN 

XCVIII. 

But,  draw  the  bow,  and  be  a  citizen 

Of  wholesome  pleasure  ;   dare  to  win  the  love 
Of  minstrel  maid.     And  yet  the  stars  above 

Are  looking  on  thee.     Be  a  denizen 

Of  Faery.     Yet,  beyond  your  mortal  ken 
A  star  is  shining ;   and  a  spotless  dove 
Is  winging.     Toss  the  gem  and  tinsel  glove  ; 

Pour  out  the  ink,  and  lay  aside  the  pen  ! 

For,  lackaday,  the  world  has  won  your  heart ! 

Ye  cannot  serve  two  masters  !     So,  have  done 
With  acting  !     Worship  'gen  the  sculptor's  art ; 

The  fashioned  jewel,  and  the  diamond  won 
From  kingdoms  in  the  earth,  and  drink  the  wine 
Of  Bacchus,  putting  off  the  One  divine  ! 

XCIX. 

And  yet  these  holy  Intimations  are 

The  true  outpourings  of  a  human  heart ; 
I  would  not  clothe  them  in  adorned  art ; 

But  ere  you  cross  this  life's  great  Harbor  Bar, 

O  find  that  fadeless,  everlasting  Star 

That  shines  in  Heaven  !     And  then  the  winged  Dart 
Will  lose  its  sting  !      Since  in  the  crowded  mart 

E'en  Death  will  come,  and  Life's  funereal  car ! 

For,  such  is  life.      But  life  is  bounded  by 

Death  !     Heaven  alone  will  never  pass  away  ; 

So,  win  this  world  ;  but  win  across  the  sky 

That  other  World  ;     and  when  the  Judgment  Day 

Shall  come,  a  crown  of  glory  shall  be  thine, 

Beautiful  and  fadeless  from  a  Hand  divine  ! 


INTIMATIONS   OF  HEAVEN  57 

• 

c. 

Turn  down  the  glass  that  held  the  sparkling  wine 
Of  pristine  days ;   eschew  the  ballet  now, 
And  take  the  wine-crown  from  thy  wrinkled  brow ; 

For  these  are  days  that  you  should  be  divine 

In  heart ;  for  you  are  marked  by  facial  line 

Of  cards  and  dice,  by.  cares  that  make  you  bow 
In  gloomy  attitude.     The  great  Ship's  prow 

Is  nearing  its  last  port  across  the  brine ! 

So,  let  the  glad  days  be  a  memory  gone 

In  faded  mists.     Forget  the  glittering  bar 

With  portly  tender,  and  sail  surely  on 

To  that  great  Haven  beyond  the  western  star ; 

For  now  the  glory  of  the  earth  is  past ! 

'Tis  Heaven  or  Hell  you  have  to  face  at  last ! 

CI. 

The  moon  has  smiled  upon  thy  face ;    the  skies 
Have  arched  their  welken  over  thee  ;  the  stars 
Have  shone  upon  thee  with  translucent  bars 

Of  light ;  but  soon  a  mist  will  cross  thine  eyes 

Forever !     To  his  home  the  eagle  flies 

On  buoyant  wing ;  and  e'en  the  pasture  bars 

Are  just  at  home  !        But    you    that    conquered    Mars 

Are  homeless  !     Out  of  reach  thy  heaven  lies ! 

So,  close  the  game  ;  throw  down  the  loaded  dice ; 

A  knock  is  on  thy  door  at  last ;   for  Death 
Is  no  respecter !     Rules  of  coarse  or  nice 

He  knoweth  not.  A  pestilential  breath, 
And  weeds  and  lovely  flowers  together  lie  ; — 
In  losing  Life  the  verv  soul  shall  die  ! 


58  INTIMATIONS    OF   HEAVEN 

GIL 

Once  Love  and  you  went  hand  in  hand,  and  all 

The  skies  were  flushed  with  Hope's  new  radiant  smile  ; 

You  sailed  for  aye  to  some  Hesperian  isle 
Of  song  and  fruit.     No  interposing  wall 
Of  Eden  harrassed.      Earth  thy  banquet-hall 

Of  flower  and  jest  and  wine.     With  snare  and  wile 

Only  sweet  Eros  came  in  pranked  style 
Of  new  delights,  with  many  a  winding  mall. 

But  all  has  changed.     The  light  has  faded  out; 

The  earth  seems  like  a  ball  of  rolling  mist ; 
At  last  you've  ta'en  the  never-swerving  /oute 

Of  life.     But  Love  and  you  have  met  and  kist 
The  last  lip-kiss.     And  yet  I'd  hold  out  hope; 
For  e'en  at  death  the  Gates  of  Pearl  are  ope  ! 

CHI. 

You  may  be  sitting  at  your  humble  meal ; 

You  may  be  dining  with  a  king  in  state 

With  glittering  crown  of  gold ;   but  Fate,   e'en  Fate, 
Will  dog  thy  steps.      The  rosy  red  may  steal 
Across  the  pallor  of  thy  cheeks  ;   the  peal 

Of  tinkling  glasses  half  and  half  translate 

The  music  of  thy  love  ;  yet  added  rate 
And  rate,  thy  coming  doom  will  half  reveal. 

So,  when  the  Angel  comes  to  thee  with  scroll 
Of  faded  years,  e'en  then  forget  thy  gold, 

Thy  loves,  and  from  the  ruins  save  thy  soul  ; 

Since  now  desire  has  gone;   thou  art  too  old 

To  care  for  petty  gewgaws  of  the  earth  ; 

Now  Heaven  is  beauteous  as  a  flower  at  birth. 


INTIMATION'S   OF  HEAVKX  59 

CIV. 

And  yet  one  glimpse,  one  faint  Auroral  flush 

Of  Life,  is  all  the  hoping  heart  requires 

To  toil  along  to  death  ;  for  such  desires 
Are  heralds  of  delight ;  and  fruits  are  lush 
And  ripe,  and  life's  new  rosy's  modest  blush 

Is  on  the  cheek,  and  bands  of  voiced  choirs 
.     Sing  seraph  songs,  and  all  along  the  wires 
Come  song-tones  like  sweet  bells  in  even's  hush. 

And  yet  a  throw  of  chance ;  for  one  transgression 
Leadeth  across  the  Styx.     Thy  cap  and  bells 

May  be  a  safeguard ;   for  the  fool's  confession 

Is  surely  :    "Crown  sometimes  a  doom  foretells  !  " 

Temptation  is  to  those  of  finer  mould ; 

Beauty  is  sought,  and  beauty  can  be  sold  ! 


He  plays  life's  ditty  on  a  mellow  flute ; 

One  plays  it  with  a  cymbal  and  a  gong ; 

A  Burns  has  sung  it  in  a  Highland  song ; 
Another  in  an  attitude  as  mute 
As  statues  dreams  it.     Down  a  little  chute 

A  brook  is  scampering  to  a  busier  throng 

In  cities  far,  perhaps  to  some  Hong  Kong ; 
But  who  another's  song  would  substitute? 

For  you  would  still  be  you,  and  I  e'en  I ; 

My  song  may  be  from  out  a  simple  heart ; 
And  you  may  love  in  cedar  shades  to  lie ; 

Another  still  love  art  for  only  art ; 
But  what  your  song,  no  matter,  high  or  low, 
Some  aimless  fingers  o'er  the  strings  may  go. 


60  INTIMATIONS   OF  HEAVEN 

CVI. 

The  clock  will  strike  ;  but  let  it  strike  at  last 

The  final  stroke.     Why  should  we  care  for  this? 
We  turn  our  lips  to  win  the  farewell  kiss 

Of  love.     Perhaps  a  kindly  hand  will  cast 

A  spray  of  lilac  on  our  casket.     "Hast 

Thou  loved  us?"     In  the  Aidenn  vales  of  bliss 
The  question  may  re-echo.     Things  amiss 

May  then  be  righted  when  our  graves  are  grassed. 

And  yet  we  lay  the  old  coat  by  ;    the  boot 

Is  wrinkled,  and  the  clothes  are  frayed ;   and  we 

Are  worn  and  running  down ;   but  let  them  hoot 
Their  owl-notes  to  the  moon,  a  jasper  sea 

Has  snowy  barque  awaiting  at  the  dock,     ' 

And  heaven  is  ours  no  matter  what  o'clock. 

CVII. 

I  do  not  know  ?     Go  pull  the  briar  and  rose  ; 

Go  win  the  sailing  lily  on  the  stream  ; 

And  take  thy  little  meed  of  salt  and  dream 
Thy  nights  away,  for  these  are  God.     Night  knows 
Her  crowned  \vhite  queen  ;   and  every  flower  that  blows 

On  wayside  fells.     But  ope  the  magic  Ream 

Of  Life.     Thy  name  is  writ  thereon !     The  gleam 
Of  Paradise  is  where  the  west  sun  goes. 

For  you  have  won  the  radiance  of  the  stars 

Of  white  Eternity  !     And  though  the  clock 

Strike  three  or  one,  to  you  the  silver  bars 

Are  shining.     You  have  heard  the  final  knock  ; 

And  crowned  for  that  Valhalla  of  the  skies 

Thy  death  is  sleep  to  thine  immortal  eyes. 


INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN  61 

CVIII. 

At  old  Uxmal  palatial  ruins  lie 

In  glorious  crown  of  weeds  and  gadding  vines ; 

And  yet  a  perished  hand  hath  made  these  lines 
Of  ancient  days ;   at  Teocalli  high 
The  mouldering  stones  are  piled.       The  song,  the  sigh 

Of  winds  are  here.     The  red  Lepanto  wines 

Have  drowsed  their  memory.     And  the  lichen  signs 
Of  old  Decay  are  on  them,  far  or  nigh. 

The  work  of  man  shall  perish  from  the  earth ; 

And  yet  he  buildeth  better  than  he  knows 
Who  builds  a  temple  for  that  higher  Birth 

Beyond  the  sun  and  stars ;   and  orange  bows 
Shall  span  above  him  ;  and  amrita  tree 
Shall  bloom  for  him  beyond  mortality! 

CIX. 

This  higher  criticism  ;   ah  !      What  of  it  ? 

Is  God  the  object  of  their  search  ?     Is  He 

The  object  solely  ?  On  a  chartless  sea 
I  fear  they  sail.  What  one  can  spare  a  bit, 
A  shred  of  His  great  book  ?  Come,  go  and  sit 

At  Jesus'  feet !     And  let  the  Bible  be ; 

The  more  you  tamper,  more  the  Deity 
Will  disappear ;  the  dove  of  hope  may  flit. 

'Tis  well  enough.     We  cannot  spare  the  whale, 
Nor  Jonah  ;  they  are  sacred  to  the  Book  ! 

Take  these,  as  soon  destroy  the  rended  Veil, 

Saint  Luke,  or  John,  or  James  ;  since  as  you  look 

In  these,  a  hundred  things  may  meet  the  gaze 

That  puzzle  you.      God's  ways  are  not  our  ways. 


62  INTIMATIONS   OF    HEAVEN 


Accept  the  rose ;  who  put  the  fragrance  there  ? 

And  see  that  wildflower  by  the  winding  wall  : 
Who  placed  it  there?  that  ivy  crowning  all 

In  dainty  amorousness?      Her  cheek  is  fair 

As  fragrant  flowers,  a  wreath  of  golden  hair 

Vaileth  her  face.     Are  not  these  wonders?     Saul 
Did  miracles.      Moss  and  ivy  cover  hall 

And  palace.      Wonders  meet  us  everywhere. 

A  blade  of  grass  has  mysteries  for  me  ; 

An  apple-blossom  typifies  a  thought 
To  some.      The  great  commotion  of  the  sea 

O'erwhelms  my  heart,  and  therefore  I  am  not 
The  one  to  take  a  single  word  away 
From  that  great  Book  of  books  !      'Tis  nay,  and  nay  ! 


We  often  build  to  beautv  with  our  thought 

Aerial  habitations  of  delight ; 

We  place  our  statues  in  them  marble  white, 
Till  everything  to  beauty  has  been  wrought ; 
The  pillared  roof,  the  walls  with  silver  bought 

In  foreign  lands ;  the  stars  that  gem  the  night 

Have  lent  their  lustre,  till  a  happy  wight 
We  sit,  for  all  our  fancy  has  been  caught. 

So,  build  these  happy  fabrics  of  the  brain  ; 

Dream  dreams  and  have  thv  visions  of  the  night ; 
Be  herald  of  a  merry-footed  train 

Of  joys;  but,  never  let  it  leave  the  sight 
That  all  this  loveliness  will  sometime  fade, 
And  that  the  last  earth-tune  may  soon  be  played. 


INTIMATIONS   OF  HEAVEN  63 

CXIL 

One  loves  his  German  coat  of  arms  for  aye  ; 

Another  Russian  ;  and  Italian  blood 

Would  flow  for  Italy  ;  and  in  the  mud 
The  hostile  foe  would  trail  our  Flag.     The  lay 
Of  Highland  clans  would  sound  in  Scottish  fray 

With  pibroch  notes.      The  roses  red  may  bud 

And  bloom  on  all  alike.     Some  Captain  Dudd 
May  show  his  stars ;  but  I  am  I  that  Day  ! 

So,  empty  honors,  what  are  they  ?     We  strut 

With  titles  and  a  golden  uniform  ; 
But  wipe  away  the  battle's  grime  and  smut ; 

Forget  the  tattered  flag,  the  leaden  storm 
Of  strife  ;  will  any  gloried  shoulder  star 
Be  passport  sure  at  that  eternal  Bar  ? 

CXIIT. 

In  archaeology  of  Jewish  lands, 

Egyptian  or  Arcadian,  the  bard 

May  delve  ;  the  scholar  here  is  crowned,  starred  ; 
Antiquities. are  but  the  golden  sands 
Of  Yukon  vales  to  him  ;   his  velvet  hands 

Are  soiled  by  mould  ;  he  'd  give  his  dearest  parH 

To  delve  in  spoils  in  some  Assyrian  yard 
Of  old,  where  not  a  mausoleum  stands. 

But  these  are  earthly  loves,  the  intimations 

Of  sure  obliteration  a~nd  old  Death  ; 
For  all  the  martial,  pantomimic  nations 

Of  earth  have  marched  with  unabated  breath 
To  that  eternal  silence  of  the  Grave, 
Where  only  life's  defeated  banners  wave. 


04  INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN 

CXIV. 

Great  aqueducts  in  Roman  lands  may  flow 

With  waters  of  the  gods;  but  best  of  these, 
Is  great  Campagna  round  old  Rome  ;  are  trees 

Amid  its  ruined  glories?     Once  the  bow 

Of  happy  skies  o'erarched  here.      I  know 

Of  Asia,  Spain  and  Greece  and  France,  but  glees 
Of  wildbirds  echo  in  their  ruins.     Lees, 

With  mournful  waves,  sing  glories  long  ago. 

So,  touch  Divinity,  and  span  the  years 

Of  Time;  for  Rome  and  Greece  shall  pass  away 
Forever  !     Statues  with  their  marble  tears 

May  stand  in  classic  shades ;   but  when  that  Day 
Of  days  shall  come,  the  monuments  will  go, 
The  Sphinx  and  tomb  with  not  a  line  to  show. 

cxv. 

My  Preacher  telleth  there  is  nothing  new 

Under  the  sun ;   so  Rome  was  Rome  before, 
And  Paris  Paris.      On  the  New  World's  shore — 

New?     African  or  Pole  or  wandering  Jew 

Were  here  great  aeons  gone?     Beneath  the  blue 
I  walk ;   the  little  auk  may  rise  and  soar 
Above  me.     Nay.      Extinct.     And  Nevermore ! 

Is  writ  on  Iceland,  Denmark  where  he  flew. 

We  build  Love's  dearest  monument  to  last; 

But  soon  the  ivy  finds  its  chiseled  base, 
And  moss  obliterates  the  name.     The  blast 

Has  blacked  it.-    Few  short  decades  and  no  trace 
Remains.      But  he  is  building  better  far 
Who  builds  his  monument  beyond  that  Star ! 


INTIMATIONS    OF   HKAVEN  65 

CXVI. 

But,  sing  a  new  song;   don't  be  gloomy,  I 

Would  touch  the  riftless  flute ;   for  love  and  songs 
And  bridal  marches,  happy-footed  throngs 

Of  minstrel  maids  and  boys,  a  starry  sky, 

With  endless  bright  processions  passing  by 

In  gala  dress,  with  cymbals,  golden  gongs 

Of  melody,  are  not  classed  among  life's  wrongs, 

But  are  life's  blessings  ere  the  body  die. 

The  hand  that  arched  the  rainbow  o'er  the  storm 

Has  rilled  our  cornucopia  with  flowers 
Of  every  hue ;   and  we  may  deck  our  form 

With  fabrics  of  the  loom,  and  crown  the  hours 
With  rosy-footed  joys.     Yet,  more  than  this  ; 
A  time  will  come  to  take  the  last  earth  kiss  ! 

CXVII. 

Place  ampyx  on  thy  hair,  a  fillet  band 

Of  loveliness,  a  snood  of  tasty  art, 

A  diadem,  a  crown  ;  but  keep  thy  heart 
Unsullied.      Rings  are  pretty  on  the  hand, 
And  in  the  hair  an  evergreen  or  strand 

Of  laurel.      Go  in  beauty  to  the  mart, 

And  ride  in  nice  coupe"  or  f angled  cart, 
But  ever  have  in  view  that  cloudless  land. 

Long-faced  Religion,  't  is  the  creed  of  men  ; 

For  my  religion  laughs  the  whole  day  long, 
Sith  Paradise  is  ever  in  the  ken, 

And  every  heart-pulse  leapeth  in  a  song; 
Nay,  nay,  religion  is  to  sweeten  me. 
And  sweeter  make  mv  sour  humanity. 


66  INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN 

CXVIII. 

Pour  out  the  ampul  oil ;  these  sacred  things 
Are  beautiful  in  pure  chrismation,  I 
Feel  holier  with  the  holier  vessels  nigh  ; 

I  love  to  hear  the  church-bell  when  it  rings 

Its  Sunday  matins,  or  in  vespers  sings 

Religiously.     The  stillness  of  the  sky 
Seems  stiller,  and  as  music  floateth  by 

Dies  off  in  half  religious  questionings. 

The  firebells  and  the  wedding  bells  may  sound 
In  variant  note  ;  but  great  cathedral  bell 

Gives  us  uncertain  sound  ;  and  in  a  swound 
Of  His  religious  glory  dieth.     Spell, 

With  images  of  cherubim,  hath  held 

Us  thralled,  as  memories  from  forgotten  eld. 

CXIX. 

The  Indo-Chinese  architecture,  grand 

In  half  fantastic-like  imaginings; 

The  temple  of  Confucius  with  its  wings 
Of  sculpture,  great  Pagoda,  make  this  land 
Unique  ;  for  here  the  sculptor's  cunning  hand 

Hath  wrought  with  inspiration.     Yet  there  clings 

A  reverence  false,  kaleidoscope  of  things, 
As  purposeless  as  pictures  on  the  sand. 

And  yet  hath  beauty  reveled  in  this  clime ;   • 

Some  phases  in  a  certain  line  of  art 
Teach  that  a  subtle  cunning  and  a  rhyme 

Of  trained  workmanship  in  many  a  part 
Of  Indra's  temple,  or  Madura's  fine, 
Hath  made  the  whole  or  kindred  parts  divine. 


INTIMATIONS  OF   HEAVEN 
CXX. 

Spread  dust  upon  the  tablets  ;   trace  for  me 
A  diagram  of  loveliness,  and  paint 
Ideal  splendors,  tracery  as  faint 
.As  soft  Auroral  flush,  and  like  a  sea 

Of  glass,  repose  in  beauty,  with  the  tree, 
Or  vine,  or  Tuscan  abacus ;   a  saint 
At  vespers,  with  a  holy  plea  or  plaint 

To  that  white  One  of  ideality. 

And  give  me  Grecian  Doric,  with  the  trick 
Of  chiseled  workmanship,  Corinthian, 

Or  Roman  Doric  ;  yet  the  candle's  wick 
Is  burning  to  its  ebb.      A  Caliban 

May  win  our  true  life's  everlasting  goal. 

Worship  this  loveliness,  but  save  thy  soul. 

CXXI. 

With  low  abased  wing  bow  not  thy  head, 

But  bear  thy  chevron  like  a  god,  thy  shield 
Of  dented  glory  on  contested  field 

Of  valor ;   let  no  battle's  sun  set  red 

O'er  thy  defeat,  though  mountains  of  the  dead 
A.ppal  thee.     What  thy  battle,  never  yield 
If  Right  be  on  thy  banner.     And  dare  wield 

The  axe  till  every  hostile  foe  has  fled. 

And  yet  there  is  a  braver  fight  for  thee ; 

Yet  not  a  host  with  banners  floating  high 
Above  a  thousand  spears,  but  Purity  ! 

The  quiet  hue  of  unimpassioned  eye  ; 
The  half  unconscious  glory  of  a  soul 
That  leans  on  God  with  murmured  barcarolle. 


68  INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN 

CXXII. 

Put  on  thy  red  abolla  ;   I  have  naught 

To  wager  'gainst  the  glory  of  the  land 

Of  song  and  love  ;  and  I  would  head  a  band 

Of  cloaked  centurians  ;   for  every  spot 

Of  earth  is  glorified  to  me.      I  fought 

The  battle  of  the  soul.     My  works  shall  stand 
Imperishable,  though  the  crumbling  sand 

Be  scattered,  if  the  keystone  breaketh  not. 

I  love  the  glory  of  the  soldier ;  I 

Admire  the  banners  of  the  rank  and  file  ; 

I  love  to  see  Old  Glory  in  the  sky, 

The  burgee  float  o'er  some  historic  pile 

Of1  Britain.     Envy  hath  no  place  for  me, 

But  perfect  Freedom's  universality. 

CXXIII. 

Put  deft  acanthus  on  thy  pillars ;   build 

A  thousand  glories  for  thy  palace  ;   rose 
And  intersecting  vine  commingle;    bows 

Of  knotted  flowers  in  stone  have  workman  skilled 

Place  beautifully,  as  some  divinity  willed 
In  realms  of  loveliness,  and  in  repose 
Smoothing  to  love;   for  dainty  tracing  goes 

To  beautify,  and  life's  glad  heart  is  filled. 

I  'd  love  to  be  this  king  in  marble  home ; 

I  'd  love  to  sit  amid  these  statues  white  ; 
And  just  as  daylight  meets  the  darker  gloam 

Of  starry  eve,  and  whited  queen  of  night 
Saileth  in  sea  of  clouds.     And  yet  to  me 
That  other  Mansion  shines  more  gloriously. 


INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN  69 

CXXIV. 

Yea,  have  your  brave  aceldama  on  slope 

Of  Hinnom,  so  it  please  thee  ;  but  the  vale 
Of  Eden  booteth  more.     A  boat  with  sail 

Far  out  to  sea,  may  hold  thine  earthly  hope, 

And  through  the  sea-night  darkness  you  may  grope 
With  only  love  that  dares  the  starless  gale 
Of  heaven ;   and  this  is  better  far  than  wail 

On  Jewish  Hinnom,  earth  thy  horoscope. 

But  minds  are  different ;   one  adores  the  muse 

On  starred  Parnassus ;  one  aceldama 
To  bury  strangers  'neath  the  mournful  yews 

Of  some  Jehoshaphat ;   a  falling  star 
Draweth  another.    .But  the  intimations 
Of  Him  are  in  minutest  earth  creations. 

cxxv. 

t 

Yet  build  your  happy  Adens  in  the  land  ; 

Make  earth  as  beautiful  as  night  when  stars 
-Are  dreaming  in  the  blue  ;   make  little  bars 

Of  song ;   go  where  the  breakers  roar,  and  stand 

A  crowned  Adonis ;   make  upon  the  sand 

The  pictures  of  delight,  and  hum  tra  las 
Across  the  breakers.     Now  aloft,  Jack  Tai's, 

And  now  alow,  to  rollers  on  the  strand. 

Ye  cannot  be  too  happy ;  drink  the  wine 

Of  new  deliciousness,  and  brim  the  glass  . 

With  juicy  splendors  of  the  tipsy  vine 
Of  love's  imagination ;   gem  the  lass 

With  opal  clusters.      But,  O  happy  wight. 

The  Bride  awaiteth  in  her  spotless  white  ! 


70  INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN 

CXXVI. 

Let  winged  Vanessa  flit  from  room  to  room  ; 

Let  happy-throated  songsters  sing  in  cage  ; 

Find  gem-like  splendors  on  the  classic  page 
Of  genius  ;   have  the  rarest  flow.ers  in  bloom, 
And  put  electric  stars  amid  the  gloom 

Of  shortened  days  ;  with  music's  note  assuage 
.   The  dissonance  of  thought,  and  sweeten  age 
With  gladness  as  it  walketh  to  the  tomb. 

Grow  flowers  to  scatter  all  along  life's  way ; 

Build  Paradises  in  the  mind  and  heart ; 
Play  madrigals  to  dancing  sprite  and  fay  ; 

Touch  up  thy  habitation  with  the  art 
Of  Vinci,  make  this  earth  Valhalla  fair; 
And  yet  a  brighter  one  is  waiting  There ! 

CXXVII. 

Let  Juno's  ^Eolus  play  his  harp  to  thee 

In  evening  hours;  this  earth  is  sad  at  best; 
Since  you  may  have  a  home,  a  quiet  i-est 

Of  love ;   and  soon  a  jar  comes  in  thy  glee  ; 

A  tear  or  two,  and  far  across  the  sea 

Of  death,  a  barque  is  sailing  to  the  west 

With  one  so  dear !      In  white  robes  she  was  drest 

'Tis  o'er ;  the  waves  are  lapping  on  the  lee. 

And  yet  I'd  have  you  love  the  fairest  child 
O«f  God  ;  but  if  He  taketh  one  away, 

Be  patient.  Hath  He  ta'en  one  undefined? 
Yea,  be  it  so  ;  and  better  than  astray 

In  love's  defilement.      Doth  he  chasten  you  ? — 

Sometimes  the  heart  is  softened  'neath  the  yew  ! 


INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN  71 

CXXVIII. 

But,  have  thy  ship  ahull  ;  the  storms  may  rise, 
The  breakers  dash  against  thee,  and  the  roar 
Of  angry  waters  terrify,  the  shore 

Look  horridly  beautiful  to  frighted  eyes 

As  into  silver  cream  with  emerald  dyes 

They  dash  in  glory.      When  the  storm  is  o'er   , 
The  bow,  and  great  ship-clouds  no  longer  pour 

Their  rains,  but  sail  away  to  other  skies. 

And  so  thy  heart-ship,  keep  her  e'er  ahull ; 

And  so  thy  life-ship,  keep  her  helm  aright, 
So  when  the  sun  is  sinking  leaden,  dull, 

And  clouds  in  grand  procession  cross  the  light 
Of  Sol,  and  Storm-King  lowers,  O  thou  wilt  know 
Thy  ship  is  safe,  and  soon  will  shine  the  bow. 

CXXIX. 

And  put  thy  winglet  ailettes  on,  and  be 

A  knight  of  earned  valor,  couch  thy  lance 
Of  tried  steel,  and  Edward  first  the  chance 

Of  battle  seek,  the  banner  of  the  free 

Hold  high  in  glory !      Dare  to  cross  a  sea 

Of  blood  for  honor !      Let  thy  charger  prance 
In  barded  'ray,  and  though  a  battle  dance 

Of  steeds,  let  valor  crown  the  revelry  ! 

The  fight  is  to  the  hardy  and  the  brave ;    . 

The  glory,  honor,  to  the  soldier  true, 
And  ever  make  thy  country's  banner  wave, 

But,  be  a  soldier  in  thy  gray  or  blue  ; 
And  yet  a  braver  battle  shall  be  fought 
Within  the  heart,  with  no  escutcheon  blot. 


72  INTIMATIONS   OF  ^HEAVEN 

cxxx. 

Put  on  thy  hanging  alb,  thy  surplice  white 

As  snow,  and  dare  be  brave  as  Charlemagne 
Crossing  the  Alps ;  or  wandering,  homeless  Payne 

In  vagrant  journeyings  ;   hide  not  thy  light 

Within  the  bushel,  let  it  shine  as  night 

Of  summer  skies,  when  not  a  cloud  doth  stain 
The  starry  vault,  with  Luna  in  her  reign 

Of  cloudless  glory,  palely  pure  and  bright. 

And  then  the  \vorld  will  be  a  fairy  land 

To  thee,  and  weed  and  bush  and  blooming  flower 
Will  take  an  added  beauty,  as  the  hand 

Of  Flora,  with  an  untranslated  power, 
Had  added  loveliness  to  loveliness 
Before,  and  tricked  them  in  a  fairer  dress. 

CXXXI. 

For  I  can  see  a  hint  of  God  in  all 

This  loveliness ;   and  every  sonnet  built 
In  linked  rhymes,  like  gems  upon  the  hilt 

Of  famed  Excalibur,  are  flowers  on  wall 

Of  Eden  unto  me.     A  bird  may  call 

On  briery  knoH,  an  ox-eye  daisy  tilt 

On  old  worm  fence,  a  drop  of  dew  be  spilt 

From  blooming  rose,  divinity's  here  withal. 

A  hint,  suggestion,  intimation  slight 

As  color  on  the  lily,  or  the  first 
New  flush  on  summer's  rose,  if  read  aright, 

May  satisfy  the  heart ;   the  soul  may  burst 
Th'  invisible  bonds  that  bind,  and  ope  the  door 
To  Heaven,  far,  far  across  that  silent  Shore ! 


INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN  73 

CXXXII. 

So,  find  a  revelation  in  the  weeds 

By  cow-path,  or  along  the  dusty  "way 

Where  hurried  foot  has  gone ;   for  night  and  day 

Have  revelations  unto  him  who  heeds 

These  things.     In  crimson-tipped  flower  he  reads 
Life's  mysteries ;   e'en  the  dashing  of  the  spray 
Against  the  piled  shells,  hath  word  to  say 

To  intimation,  nuns  with  rosary  beads. 

For  Nature  is  a  self-translated  book 

To  those  who  care  to  read  ;  and  Milton  read 

With  sealed  eye,  and  Wordsworth  with  the  look 
Of  wisdom,  till  the  primrose  flower  or  dead 

Burns  taught  him  life's  acute  philosophy, 

The  light  that  never  was  on  land  or  sea. 

CXXXIII. 

Yea,  mount  thy  white  Alborak  steed  and  fly 

To  Paradise,  to  happy  Adens  far 

Beyorrd  the  rising,  never-setting  star 
Of  glory.      Vet  our  earth  with  spangled  sky, 
And  glittering  star,  a  woven  banner  high 

Above  us,  is  a  great  round  rolling  car 
'    Of  grandeur  unto  me  ;  and  yet  the  Bar 
Of  Death  is  'twixt  us  where  the  heavens  lie. 

And  so  as  Death  is  here  our  latest  guest 

On  earth,  O  why  not  seek  that  other  clime 

Where  Death  is  not?     For  Edens  of  the  blest 
Are  ever  and  forever  like  a  rhyme 

Of  worlds,  the  music  making  music  more 

And  more,  as  master  organs  of  that  Shore. 


74  INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN 

CXXXIV. 

t 

And  though  thy  alca  wings  be  short  for  flight 
Across  the  ether  pure,  refined,  still 
Unfurl  them  on  the  Pyrenean  hill 

Of  light,  and  sail  across  the  stars  of  night, 

Beyond  the  crescent  moon  ;   for  Death,  cold  white. 
Is  king  of  kingdoms  here;   so,  winged  quill 
And  pen  of  gold  be  laid  aside,  for  rill 

Of  death  is  sounding  e'er  for  lord  or  knight. 

And  yet  the  glory  of  this  fleeting  earth 

Of  destined  years  is  lovelier  to  me 
Than  wedding  dreams;   it  hath  a  music,  mirth, 

A  •symphony  of  syllabled  minstrelsy, 
A  Beethoven  Sonata  full. of  grand 
Memorial  numbers  from  a  master  hand. 

cxxxv. 

And  yet  be  Queen  Alcestis  in  thy  heart 

Of  hearts,  and  some  Euripides  of  verse 
May  give  thee  immortality.     The  herse 

With  empty  walls,  (where  death  has  sped  his  dart,) 

May  rumble  darkly  to  thy  curb  ;   'tis  part 

Of  life ;   and  so  I'd  have  thee  frame  no  curse  ; 
But  be  Alcestis  in  the  universe 

Of  things,  and  smile  at  death's  insidious  smart. 

For  there's  a  glory  of  the  stars,  the  sun 

That  gilds  the  hills  with  beauty,  and  the  moon 

Hanging  like  shield  of  silver,  and  the  dun 

Meadows  of  Autumn,  and  the  cannie  Doon 

In  Burnsland  far ;   for  I  would  have  you  win 

E'en  earth,  yet  have  the  angels  for  thy  kin. 


INTIMATIONS  OF   HEAVEN  75 

CXXXVI. 

Get  Aldine  books  of  beauty  ;  vases  rare 

As  Vestal  maids,  and  pictures  where  the  art 

Is  perfect  art ;  read  poems  to  the  heart 
From  masters  dead  or  living ;  bury  Care 
In  flowers  ;  and  grow  the  peach  and  mellow  pear 

In  sunlit  orchards  ;  fetch  from  foreign  mart 

The  golden  jewel ;  let  the  teardrop  start 
In  love,  and  thou  shalt  never  know  Despair ! 

For  vases,  curios  and  bric-a-brac, 

Adornments  of  embellished  gold,  fine  scenes 
Of  sunset  lands,  all  lead  along  the  track 

To  Heaven.     So,  dance  across  the  May-pole  greens 
Of  life  ;   for  Eden  homes  are  intimations 
To  me  of  Life's  ideal  associations. 

CXXXVII. 

For  beautiful  associations  are 

Akin  to  things  divine ;   so  beautify 

The  mind,  and  go  where  quiet  waters  lie 
Like  silver  mirrors ;  leap  the  sanded  bar 
To  bowered  isle,  and  dream  a  flowery  car 

Is  beai'ing  thee,  beneath  the  placid  sky, 

To  some  Hesperides,  and  heart  and  eye 
Will  be  united,  pure  as  astral  star. 

And  then  will  mind  and  soul  according  well 

Make  music  on  the  gold-strings  of  the  heart ; 

And  life  will  lure  thee  like  a  Christabel 

In  half  retirement ;   sith  sweet  love  and  art, 

And  beauties  from  a  thousand  varied  climes, 

Make  Easter  music  with  no  jarring  chimes. 


76  INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN 

CXXXVIH. 

Be  brave  as  Algebar ;  the  Holy  Grail 

Will  come  to  thee  if  thou  wilt  never  faint 
Beside  the  way.      Have  heart  and  dare  to  paint 

Ideal  pictures.     Dare  to  cross  the  Vale 

Of  Tears,  and  dare  put  on  thy  linked  mail 
And  face  the  foe.     I  love  a  nun,  a  saint 
Of  Christ  at  vespers,  but  deplore  the  taint 

That  kills  the  fruit,  the  groan  and  wryed  wail. 

So,  be  a  hero.     Life's  a  battle-ground 

To  fight  the  battles  of  the  clays  that  fill 

Our  years ;   and  never  faint  at  martial  sound, 

The  roll  of  drum,  but  storm  the  Lookout  Hill, 

The  high  redoubt,  the  battled  palisade ; 

And  yet  this  panorama  all  will  fade ! 

CXXXIX. 

But  though  a  Washington  in  glory's  cause; 
And  though  a  Wellington  at  Waterloo, 
An  Anton  Seidl's'fate  may  come  to  you 

In  Wagner's  funeral  march  of  death  ;   so  pause 

And  think  on  death  to  be  ;  for  all  his  laws 

Are  rigid  and  unchanging.     Dare  be  true 
To  self,  and  when  thy  star  sets  in  the  blue 

Bright  sky,  crowned  Love  will  say:    "A  god  he  was!" 

For  Caesar  felt  the  flush  of  life,  and  Grant 
And  Hannibal,  and  mighty  Corsican; 

But  waves  rolled  o'er  them  like  a  mad  Nahant, 
And  Death  the  victor,  stormed  the  barbacan 

Of  life,  and  earthly  fame  was  gulfed  in  death, 

For  life  to  high  or  low  is  but  a  breath  ! 


INTIMATIONS  OK   HEAVEN  77 

CXL. 

The  stately  minuet  in  Pleasure's  halls ; 
The  light  fandango  with  the  Castanet 
In  Moorish  lands ;  the  dance  on  fine  parquette 

With  Gipsy  sylph ;   our  land's  Inaugural  balls, 

May  lure  the  heart ;   the  prompter's  noisy  calls  ; 
The  grand  orchestral  notes ;  the  lips  still  wet 
With  dance-wine  dew ;  and  yet,  O  Dancer !  yet 

Music  hath  fled  from  Tara's  mouldered  walls. 

For  music  of  the  earth  will  cease  at  last ; 

The  whirling  waltz,  the  giddy  dance,  will  end ; 
But  when  the  fiddle  stops,  the  tone  has  passed 

Into  an  utter  silence,  will  it  blend 
With  Death's  processional  music  to  the  tomb. 
When  loveliest  parterres  no  longer  bloom  ? 

CXLI. 

Your  gold  may  build  an  earthly  abatis 

With  forked  pickets,  scarp  and  parapet, 
And  you  may  pay  to  earth  the  goodlv  debt 

Of  earthiness  ;  and  yet  the  farewell  kiss 

Of  Vestal  love,  when  life  has  lost  its  bliss, 
Its  song,  would  be  as  sweet  as  castanet 
In  hand  of  Spanish  love-maid,  when  regret 

Is  all  remains  to  crown  a  life  amiss. 

So,  crumple  up  life's  luring  manuscript, 

And  lay  aside  the  gauds  and  tinsel  dress 
Of  worldliness  ;  for  dancing  maids  have  tript 

To  earthly  measures ;   and  their  last  caress 
Will  leave  the  sting  of  long-abused  wine, 
Specious  and  lovely  as  a  Geraldine  ! 


78  INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN 

CXLII. 

Have  dainty  candelabra  in  thy  rooms 

Of  pleasure  ;  have  thy  branched  chandelier 
Alight,  and  have  Etruscan  vase  as  clear 

As  still  Utopian  streams,  exotic  blooms 

And  odorous  flowers  ;  have  little  quiet  glooms 
For  half  concealed  nudeness,  pictures  dear 
To  vanished  days,  an  artificial  mere, 

And  on  it  fairy  ships  with  -shining  booms. 

And  have  thy  harps  and  changing  aithrioscope, 
And  all  the  handiwork  of  chiseled  art 

From  far  Italian  clime  ;   have  carved  Hope, 
Euterpe,  Queen  of  lyric  verse,  and  heart 

And  soul  will  have  their  highest  earthly  wish  ! — 

Is  satisfaction  in  this  dainty  dish  ? 

CXLIII. 

And  yet  I'd  have  a  world  of  art  for  thee, 

The  song-bird,  mock-bird,  and  the  bobolink, 
The  bullfinch,  and  a  little  whirling  rink 

Of  treasures;   busts  of  captains  dead  at  sea, 

And  Termini  of  old  antiquity, 

And  philosophic  Hermes  ;   dainty  pink 
And  rose,  festooning  chains  with  golden  link 

And  swivel,  every  kind  of  fruit  and  tree. 

And  little  silver  turnstiles,  golden  crowned ; 

And  noiseless  gates  of  filigree  ;   in  sooth  ! 
The  cravings  of  the  heart  in  Coma  swound 

Of  earth  deliciousness.     And  yet  that  booth 
Of  hewed  boards,  so  oft  a  laugh  at  Art, 
Has  held  the  best  effusions  of  the  heart ! 


INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN  79 

CXLIV. 

A  Portland  vase  is  just  as  dear  to  me  ; 

Mosaic  work  and  parquetry,  the  nave 

In  pillared  church,  the  Anton  Seidl  stave 
Of  Wagner  song,  and  orientally 
Exhumed  statuary,   melody 

Of  tranced  Mozarts ;  and  the  cypress  grave 

I'd  beautify,  the  streets  of  earth  I'd  pave 
With  hope  and  joy  and  love  eternally. 

For  earth  can  be  a  paradise,  a  place 

Of  peace  and  song  and  glory,  and  a  land 

Of  pure  delight.      So,  turn  thy  wrinkled  face 
Away  from  lust,  be  leader  of  a  band 

Of  happy  mortals  destined  for  the  skies 

Of  blinding  beauty  to  our  human  eves. 

CXLV. 

Have  not  the  Shelleys  beautified  our  life 

In  song  and  art?     The  Tennysons  have  made 

A  witching  music  in  the  soul,  arrayed 
In  more  than  earthly  glory.  Battled  strife 
Disarmed  by  melody  !  So,  sheathe  the  knife 

Of  slaughter,  make  no  red  embattled  raid, 

But  woo  all  music,  for  the  leaf  will  fade, 
The  flower,  and  death  will  crown  the  happiest  wife. 

For  in  the  grand  ovations  of  this  world 

Of  fleeting  loveliness,  all  things  will  perish  ; 

No  matter  how  your  banner  is  unfurled, 

No  matter  how  the  fondest  heart  may  cherish 

The  things  of  earth,  and  so  my  song  to  thee  . 

Is  :     Win  this  world  and  Immortality  ! 


80  INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN 

CXLVI. 

Wear  Venus'  cestus  to  awaken  love 

And  joy  in  thousand  hearts  ;  have  marble  boys, 

And  Caryates  fair ;   and  mixed  alloys 
Of  shining  beauty ;   have  a  silvery  dove 
In  winged  marble,  spangled  stars  above, 

A  little  artificial  sky,  and  joys 

In  alabaster,  fabricated  toys, 
And  silver  boats  that  dainty  hands  may  shove. 

Have  chiseled  obelisk  or  corbel  niche 

With  fine  ogee  or  moulding  rare,  a  nook 

Of  builded  marbles,  tapestries  so  rich 
In  Oriental  handiwork,  a  book 

Of  poems  hath  no  fine  allurements.     Yet 

How  vain,  how  vain,  when  dying  eyes  are  wet ! 

CXLVII. 

Have  clustered  columns,  carved  balustrade, 
The  wave-like  cyma,  dainty  fret  and  foils, 
The  feathery  foliations,  vines  in  coils 

And  quirks  of  beauty,  and  a  masquerade 

Of  undisguised  loves,  no  pasquinade 

Of  low  lampoonry,  not  a  word  that  soils ; 
Sith  here  are  knights  who  only  use  the  foils 

Of  Peace  !     And  yet  this  fabric  fair  will  fade  ! 

And  yet  I'd  pile  the  wealth  of  Ind  for  thee, 

The  treasures  of  a  thousand  shores,  this  earth 

Would  make  as  beautiful  as  love,  a  sea 
Of  never-ending  glory ;  yet,  in  mirth, 

In  worldly  splendors  have  one  thought  for  Him, 

For  all  thy  proud  mirage  will  soon  be  dim  ! 


INTIMATIONS   OF  HEAVEN  81 

CXLVIII1, 

I  have  no  word  against  a  happy  life  ; 

I  have  no  word  against  a  happy  home  ; 

I'd  have  another  Golden  Age  of  Rome 
For  thee  ;  I'd  have  the  banishment  of  strife, 
The  quick  dethronement  of  all  war ;  the  knife 

Of  Spaniard  I  would  sheathe  ;   the  golden  Tome  ( 

Translate  for  every  country  where  the  gloam 
Is  thickest,  when  the  hostile  word  is  rife. 

I'd  cix>wn  McKinley  with  the  Wreath  of  Peace ; 

I'd  crown  the  world,  the  Regent  Queen  of  Spain  ; 
My  Country  with  the  glory  that  was  Greece, 

If  Love  shall  reign  !     Above  the  mangled  slain 
I'd  drop  the  tear  of  Pity ;   for  this  world 
Is  Love.     No  hostile  banner  be  unfurled  !  • 

CXLIX. 

So,  build  thy  castles  in  the  air,  but  think 

On  Death  !     Have  pleasure-houses  if  you  will, 
But,  listen  for  that  Voice  so  small  and  still ; 

Have  pastures  green,  the  lily,  rose  and  pink ; 

But,  weld  for  aye  life's  breaking,  broken  link  ; 
And  build  thy  mansion  en  a  lordly  hill ; 
But  night  and  day  there  is  a  quiet  rill 

Running,  and  soon  'twill  reach  the  final  Brink  ! 

So,  in  these  Intimations  find  the  route 

Of  glory  ;  dare  inherit  beauties  here 
On  earth  ;  but  never  let  the  lamp  go  out 

That  lights  the  way  beyond  the  shedded  tear ; 
For  life  at  best  is  but  a  passing  dream 
Of  Faery,  thousands  lost  upon  the  Stream  ! 


S'2  INTIMATIONS   OF   HEAVEN 

CL. 

But  now  farewell,  a  poet's  last  adieu ; 

A  happy  singer's  last,  his  parting  word  ; 

His  song  was  not  the  song  of  nesting  bird 
In  quiet  nooks,  but  trumpet  sounds  to  you  ! 
And  never  bard  more  honest  trumpet  blew 
•          Unto  his  clan  !     For  with  this  age  I'm  stirred 

To  might,  since  these  are  doublings  I  have  heard 
''I  doubt  mv  Bible  and  old  things  and  new  !  " 

But  I :      "Have  faith,  for  life  is  full  of  good  ; 

Large-hearted  men  and  noble  women  live ; 
I  like  to  go  where  Beecher  Stowes  have  stood  ! 

I  know  a  million  silent  hands  will  give  ; 
I  know  that  though  a  darkness  pall  the  night. 
Behind  it  till  the  great  sun  shineth  bright!  " 


THE  LADY  OF  SANTA  ROSA 


THE  LADY  OF  SANTA  ROSA 

DRAMATIS    PERSONS 

ANSO,   High   Priest  of  Saturn. 
DON  MIGUEL,    cousin  of  Inez. 
LOLA  MORENO,  a    Gitano  dancing  girl. 
DOLORES  DE  CASTRO,  a   Spanish  beauty. 
PRINCE  HENRIQUE,  son  of  a  foreign  duke. 
SENORITA  INEZ,   Don  Miguel's  cousin. 
ALBERTI,   Lola's  gipsy  lover. 
MIDDLE,  a  street  clown. 

ACT  I. 

SCENE    I. 

Place,   SPAIN.     In  a  room  of  FATHER  ANSO. 
Enter   DON  MIGUEL. 

Don  Mig.     A  goodly  morning  to  you,  Father  Anso. 

Anso.     It  is  a  goodly  morning,  Miguel. 
But  mornings  are  not  new  to  hoary  Spain  ; 
Since  long,  long  years  ago,  ere  Spaniard  lived, 
Or  goodly  Spain  was  in  the  almanac 
Of  time,  did  mornings  blush  upon  the  earth, 
The  hoary  hills,  the  mountains  vast  aifd  grand ; 
And  e'en  when  swarthy  Moors  held  martial  sway, 
And  with  their  valor  dared  to  conquer  kingdoms. 


86  THE   LADY  OF   SANTA   KOSA 

Don  Mig.     Thy  language   is  as    ancient    as    the  hills 
Of  Spanish  empires;   thine  ideas  are  gray 
As  time  himself.     But  ever  did  old  men 
Return  to  buried  past,  to  times  agone 
Adown  the  centuries,  and  so  far  away 
That  younger  men  like  me  are  lost  in  whirl 
Of  multitudinous  years.      But,  holy  father, 
Pray  tell  me  what  thou  fashionest  with  ardor 
And  undenied  desire.     Since  all  thy  face. 
Thy  manner,  doth  betray  thine  adoration. 

Anso.     Young  man,  thou  art  as  splendid  as  the  sun  ; 
Thou  art  as  brilliant  as  the  gloried  sky  ; 
And  in  thy  courtly  dress  of  hat  and  feathers, 
And  buckled  breeches,  broidered,  flowing  waist, 
With  flowered  shoe,  and  tinseled,  silk-like  stockings, 
And  worked  by  lady's  dainty  hand,  thy  sword 
With  diamonds  decked,  and  filigree-like  handle. 
Thou  art,  believe  me,  Don,  the  greatest  knight 
And  courtier  in  all  Spain.     Men  envy  thee. 

Don  Mig.     I  did  not  come  to  woo  thy  .  flattery  ; 
For  such  as  I  need  not  the  lying  tongue 
Of  Spain's  society.      I'm  as  independent 
As  greatest  lord  of  Cadiz  or  Peru, 
Or  any  count  of  Mediterranean  waters 
That  babble  out  their  old  salt  song.     'Tis  I, 

0  Priest  of  Saturn,  and  no  other  lord  ; 

So,  tell  me  of  thy  workmanship,  this  thing 
That  thou  dost  fashion  to  such  comely  shape. 

Anso.     By  all  the  powers  of  heaven  and  lower  earth, 

1  mark  thee  for  a  god  of  trouble.     Beauty 
Like  thine,  and  courtliness,  and  prowess  rare, 


THE    LADY   OK  SANTA  ROSA  87 

Will  lead  to  old  temptation,  which  hath  sat 
On  life's  "high  parapet  and  watched  for  prey 
In  coming  babe  ;   for  loveliness  in  maid  ; 
For  glory,  comeliness  in  thoughtless  man  ; 
For  gloried  fame  in  some  Homeric  hero  ; 
A  soldier  of  a  fortune  high  as  captains  ; — 
And  thus  thy  dazzling  presence  will  outshine 
Thine  earthly  rivals,  till  Don  Miguel 
Becometh  star  of  finest  magnitude. 

Don  Mig.     And  thereby  falleth  from  his  firmament. 

Anso.     Unless  thou  hast  an  old  man's  fortitude, 
And  such  a  self-restraint  as  only  gray 
Hairs  have. 

Don  Mig.     Then  will  I  paint  my  hair  as  white 
As  hoary  snows  of  winters;   for  if  wisdom, 
And  fortitude,  and  self-restraint,  and  glory 
Are  the  constituent  parts  of  white-haired  age, 
Then,  Father  Anso,  I,  Don  Miguel 
De  Santa  Rosa  de  Granada,  will 
Grow  old  so  fast  my  hair  becometh  white 
In  single  night. 

Anso.  He  maketh  light  of  me  ! 

Don  Mig.     I  beg  thy  priestly  pardon ;     I  must  have 
My  courtly  pun.      But,  hearken,  Priest  of  Saturn, 
There's  not  a  man  in  Cadiz,  ay  !     Nor  Spain, 
Who  beareth  greater  love  for  thee  ;   since  thou 
Art  wise  beyond  thy  times.     Thou  art  a  prophet, 
A  seer.     And  were  I  in  a  troublous  state 
Of  mind,  to  thee  I'd  hie. 

Anso.  Then  thou  art  troubled  ? 

Old  love,  forever  new,  hath  late  beset  thee, 


88  THE   LADY   OF   SANTA   ROSA 

And,  like  a  cobra,  still  retains  his  hold. 

Don  Mig.     Then  thou  hast  heard  of  this  Don's  love  ? 

I  see  ! 

All  Spain  will  soon  reiterate  the  story. 
But,  hark,  my  Father  Anso,  I  have  come 
To  visit  thee  with  such  a  tale  of  love 
That  e'en  the  stars  do  weep.     So,  lend  thine  ear. 

Anso.     I   will.     Tho'    new  this   love   to  thee,  'tis  old 
To  earth  as  life.     'Tis  old  to  me.     But,  speak ; 
For  love  hath  winged  feet  and  tongue,  and  sleeps 
Not  till  his  enemies  and  friends  alike 
Do  hear  his  tale  of  worldly  lamentation. 

Don  Mig.      Thou    talkest    as    old    love    had    late    de 
throned  thee. 

But,  listen  to  my  tale  ;  for  such  my  love 
No  man  e'er  knew  or  felt  a  sweeter.      I 
Lie  down  at  night  on  grassy  mead,  and  there 
Beneath  the  whited  stars,  I   see  my  love ; 
In  draperied  room,  in  festooned  bed,  I  dream 
Of  beauty's  things,  the  loveliness  of  ladies' 
Eyes.     Lying  half  asleep  in  semblance  strange 
Of  death,  I  paint  with  Raphael  beauty,  love, 
Love,  love,  with  such  a  train  of  rare  delights, 
And  pleasures,  joys  and  dainty  ecstasies, 
That,  Father  Anso,  I  would  die  the  death 
Of  love,  if  'twould  not  break  two  loving  hearts. 

Anso.     Thy  love  is  new  as  newly  kenned  star? 

Don  Mig.     And  brighter  far  than  sweet  Andromeda. 

Anso.     And  sorely  it  doth  trouble  thee? 

Don  Mig.  Yea,  father  ; 

And  now  I  come  to  thee  for  solace  rare  ; 
Since,  go  I  'meng  my  kinder  friends,  they  smile  ; 


THE  LADY   OF   SANTA   ROSA  89 

And  'inong  unkindlier,  their  lips  do  curl ; 
So,  unto  thee  I  turn  as  one  who  will 
Judge  me  precisely,  at  my  finest  worth. 

Anso.     Then   sit  thee   by   me,    as   by   stroke  of  hand, 
And  soothing  word,  to  thy  responsive  eye 
I'd  lend  the  glory  of  mine  age,  and  paint 
The  picture  of  thy  love-led  life.     Now  speak. 

Don  Mig.     Her  name  hath  music, voweled  too  and  round, 
Dolores  !     Was  there  ever  such  a  name  ? 
'Tis  sweet  as  nectar  in  old  bottles  found, 
With  such  aroma  unto  me,  that  life 
Goes  double  in  its  sweetness.     Love  I  sleep, 
And  love  I  dream.     'Tis  all  my  life's  new  business. 

Anso.     And  never  busier  man  than  thou,  Granada  ; 
For  love  will  give  a  wink  of  sleep  when  poppy 
Leaves,  drunk  in  wine,  do  hide  the  petty  thought ; 
Since  just  so  long  as  thought  remaineth  stable, 
Is  paramount,  so  long  will  love  delay 
The  hour  of  sleep.      But  bards  have  sung  Dolores. 

Don  Mig.      For  such  her  beauty,  such  her    ravishment. 

Anso.      But  is  she  not  in  everybody's  mouth? 

Don  Mig.     Aye,  beggar,   lord    and    count    and    courtly 
knight ! 

Anso.     Then  jealousy  may  yet  beset  thy  heart, 
Since  every  courtly  clown  doth  homage  pay. 

Don  Mig.      But  I'm  a  better,  since  with  welded  sword 
I'll  hurl  them  all  to  native  dust,  and  she 
Will  hold  me  high  in  favor  as  the  hero 
Of  many  battles. 

Anso.  Once  the  glory  gone. 

The  cute  enravishment  that  clothes  a  name 
In  lustrous  beauty,  and  Don  Miguel 


90  THE   LADY  OF   SANTA   ROSA 

Becometh  tame,  a  man  without 'his  art; 
A  duteous  husband  with  a  rusting  sword, 
His  epaulets  displaced  and  shoulder-star. 

Don  Mig.     Then  unto  newer  battles  will  I  turn  ; 
Call  forth  all  doughty  heroes  of  the  brand, 
And  say :      I  offer  unto  thee  Dolores 
As  beauteous  prize  ;  and  any  swordsman  dare 
To  face  Granada,  hath  her  hand  in  fee, 
If  hap  so  shape  his  fortune  ! 

Anso.  Said  e'en  well, 

Don  Miguel.      But,  hearken.      What  I  build 
With  rarest  divination,  as  you  asked  me, 
Is  blessed  heart  of  Santa  Rosa.     Such 
An  amulet  as  sons  of  old  Poseidon 
Dared  worship  in  their  lowly  holiness. 
'Twas  at  this  time,  Don  Miguel,  long  gone, 
Long  years  ago.     The  Trident  then  was  used 
By  sons  of  old  Poseidon  as  the  symbol  ( 

Of  fair  Atlante. 

Don  Mig,       Yet  from  what  was  't  made  ? 

Anso.     'Twas  fashioned  from  a  great  fire  opal,  which 
Was  purchased  at  old  Atlan  of  the  west,    . 
An  amulet  as  beautiful  as  life  ; 
As  pure  as  holy  heaven's  whitest  star, 
And  valuable  beyond  imagination  ! 
I  prize  it  as  the  apple  of  mine  eye, 
And,  too,  as  dearest  daughter  of  my  heart; 
And  touched  on  holy  week,  it  giveth  peace, 
Tranquillity  and  hope,  enlightenment 
Spiritual. 

Don  Mig.     Then  will  I  dare  possess  it,  father, 
As  talisman,  an  amulet  of  love, 


THE   LADY  OF  SANTA   ROSA  91 

An  anchor  to  my  soul,  a  charm  to  make 
E'en  better  days  for  darling  love  and  I, 
To  sweeten  mine  already  sweetened  love, 
And  make  my  dreams  as  beautiful  as  Cupids 
Who  wing  their  way  in  night-time  o'er  the  couches 
Of  old  new  lords  of  love,  till  lovely  Cadiz 
Seems  full  of  Spanish  maids  and  brilliant  ladies ! 

Anso.     Thou  art. full  sick  with  love,  Don  Miguel; 
And  e'en  thy  waking  evening  hour  is  dream 
To  thee,  since  I  am  dead  these  hundred  years ! 

Don  Mig.     Dead?     Anso,  thou  art  riddle  of  the  gods, 
And,  Ate-like,  thou  wouldst  befuddle  me 
With  hate  and  old  revenge.     But  love  tells  true 
Thou  art  no  ghost,  but  ghost  tho'  thou  mayst  be ; 
Yet  linger  with  thine  Atlan  story,  since, 

0  Priest  of  Saturn,  I  have  come  to  thee 
With  many  a  piteous  tale ;  for  love  besets  me 
Upon  three  several  sides. 

Anso.  I  am  a  ghost ; 

But  tell  thine  everlasting  tale,  since  love 
Hath  thousand  tongues,  and  stories  sweetened  rare, 
And  ''s  never  done  till  lady  sleepeth  last 
In  marble  tomb  of  unrelenting  death  ; 
But  speak,  Granada ;   love  is  never  old. 

Don  Mig.     Upon  three  several  sides  I  am  beset : 
Upon  my  wicked  side,  because  my  sword 

1  carry  there,  fair  wild  Gitano  sits, 
The  dancing  girl  of  Gades,  with  a  skin 
Olive,  and  eyes  as  dark  as  midnight  skies, 

A  beggar  beauty  whose  bright  dagger,  father, 
Would  cut  my  heart  for  unrequited  love. 

Anso.     A  dangerous  lass  is  this  Moreno,  Don  ; 


92  THE   LADY   OF  SANTA   ROSA 

Her  race  is  treacherous.     Love  her,  all  is  well. 

Don  Mig.     I  love  her  as  the  gadfly  or  the  jackdaw, 
As  cat  the  mouse,  the  boy  the  butterfly, 
A  prisoner  his  cell,  a  queen  her  throne. 

Anso.      Why  riddle  thus?     Thou  lov'st  her  for  the  hour? 
She  is  thy  beer,  but  not  thy  luscious  wine? 

Don  Mig.     Yea,  common  as  my  beer,  mine  ancient  sack  ; 
But  Cousin  Inez  !     Ah,  High  Priest  of  Saturn, 
She  's  jewel- fashioned  finely.      Born  a  beauty, 
She  yet  sits  on  the  north  of  my  affections  ; 
Since  though  as  lovely  as  a  star,   as  pure, 
I  hate  her ;   for  I  'm  plighted  by  my  father, 
Her  father. 

Anso.         'Tis  love's  old,  old  story,  Don. 

Don  Mig.     To  keep  the  name  of  Santa  Rosa,  father, 
Imperishable  in  the  realm  of  Spain, 
Don  Pedro  Santa  Rosa  de  Granada, 
Father  of  Inez,  and  mine  old  ambitious 
Pa,  touched  their  Spanish  noses  o'er  their  wine, 
And  plighted  us  for  life,  eternity  ; 
But  little  caring  for  this  Inez,  father. 
Yet  hear  my  story.     She  was  foolish  eight, 
And  I  sixteen,  when  o'er  their  Gascon  wine 
They  plighted  us.      Forsooth  !     Two  paltry  knaves 
Who  only  money  had  in  winy  thought. 
I  know  she's  fair  as  lilies  of  the  valley, 
As  pure  as  Geyser  waters,  lucent  wines, 
That  she  is  heiress  to  the  Santa  Rosa 
Estates. 

Anso.     In  case  of  her  demise? 

Don  Mig.  Then,  father, 

All  Santa  Rosa  lands  revert  to  me. 


THE  LADY  OP   SANTA   ROSA  93 

Anso.     And  thou  dost  marry  her? 

Don  Mig.  'Tis  but  the  same. 

Yet,  listen.      Still  another  findeth  place 
Within  my  heart. 

Anso.  Thou  hast  a  triple  love? 

Don  Mig.     Indeed  !   But  out  of  such  a  brilliant  three 
I  choose  Dolores  Castro  !     She  is  fair  ; 
The  glory  of  Seville ;   and  can  be  had 
Just  for  the  winning. 

Anso.  Let  me  tell  thee  now, 

Forever  !     Choose  fair  Inez  for  thy  wife, 
And  all  thine  earthly  troubles  will  be  o'er. 

Don  Mig.     Forbear,  oh  Priest  of  Saturn !     Love  will 
guide. 

Anso.     Once  married  to  Dolores,  trouble,  trouble. 

Don  Mig.     But  love  is  mine  immortal  counterpart. 

Anso.     Once  wedded  to  the  dark  Moreno,  life 
Will  be  a  farce  or  tragedy  of  old. 

Don  Mig.     Believe  me,  Anso,  thou  art  very  ghost ; 
For  I  am  sleeping  here  upon  the  public 
Stage,  aye  !  the  world's  great  rostrum,  where  we  actors 
But  do  our  unavoidable  parts,  and  quick 
Retire  from  life  and  hoary  seeming  death, 
To  turn  to  native  dust,  the  food  for  worms 
And  all  things  vile.     But,  father,  answer  me, 
What  makest  thou  ?     'Tis  rare  beyond  compare, 
And  fills  me  with  a  kind  of  holiness. 

Anso.     Young  man,  I  am  the  shade  of  other  years  ; 
Am  resurrected  from  a  past  so  distant, 
It  is  forgot,  and  things  of  now  seem  strange 
And  wonderful.      But  since  I  'm  here  amid 
Thy  dreaming  hours,  I  '11  tell  thee  all  my  story-. 


94  THE   LADY  OF   SANTA  KOSA 

I  am  the  Priest  of  Saturn.      I  am  mighty 

In  spirituality.      Goodness  is  my  business. 

I  lived  when  th'  Trident  was  the  symbol  of 

Atlantic,  when  the  prows  of  all  her  vessels 

Spread  fame  throughout  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  ; 

Her  colonies  did  flourish  from  Peru, 

Central  America,  Spain,  and  Ireland,  Egypt, 

The  Mediterranean,  ay  !   the  then  known  world. 

With  knowledge  strange,  occult  of  hidden  things, 

I  sought  this  Atlan  opal,  rare  and  fine ; 

To  amulet  in  shape  of  human  heart 

I  fashioned  it,  a  gem,  a  rarity  ; 

And  whoso  doth  possess  it,   hath  protection 

From  Ate,  Nemesis,  and  all  bad  gods. 

Don  Mig.     But  who  so  lucky  as  to  gain  its  keeping? 

Anso.     To  him,  who  was  a  ruler  o'er  proud  Gades, 
My  nephew,  was  the  amulet  presented.      (Ex.  ANSO, 

Don  ^fig-  (Aside.}      St !    Mark  ye,  I,  Granada,  must 

possess  it. 

Now  out  upon  thee  as  a  priestly  coward  ! 
What !     Gone  ?     And  not  a  footfall  ?     I  alone  ? 
What  means  it  ?     Were  it  gray  old  dawn  of  day, 
I'd  have  the  explanation  in  my  wine-cups ; 
But,  lo  !     'Tis  only  evening,  and  my  head's 
As  clear  as  cowbell  flower  or  buttercup 
In  daisied  meads.     My  three  green  loves,  Dolores, 
Moreno,  and  my  cousin  rare,  have  turned 
My  head  ;   I'm  drunk  with  interlacing  sweets ; 
I'm  dreaming,  or  't  's  hallucination  strange. 
No  Priest  of  Saturn  here  ?     What  doth  it  mean  ? 
'Tis  strange,  aye,  strange.     It  mimes  with  gaunt  old  meanings 
And  's  \varning  unto  me  in  all  my  loves. 


THE   LADY  OF  SANTA   ROSA  ,  95 

I'll  hence  to  Santa  Rosa's  house,  in  Cadiz, 
And  he  shall  tell  me  of  this  new  Atlantis. 
Enter  PRINCE  HENRIQUE. 
Henrique.     Ha,  ha !     And  fools  do  dream  upon  their 

legs, 

Their  eves  wide  staring.      Priest  of  Saturn  !      Ha, 
My  feathered  lord,  he's  dead  these  thousand  years. 

Don  Mig.      What  villain  clown   is  this?     {Drawing his 

sword. ) 
Henrique.  'Tis  Prince 

Henrique  ! 

Don  Mig.     A  prince?   Forsooth! 

Henrique.  A  prince,  forsooth  ! 

Don  Mig.  A 

coward  ! 

Henrique.     Dost  lose  thy  courtly  temper? 
Don  Mig.  Aye,  false 

prince  ! 

Henrique.     At  home,  and  such  a  coui'tier  lord  as  thou 
Had  tasted  this  late  red  Damascus  blade. 

Don  Mig.     A  quarrel's  not  for  time  nor  place. 
Henrique.  Then 

cross !  * 

Don  Mig.     My  basket-hilted  sword  is  good  as  thine  ; 
So,  have  a  care,  and  guard  thy  treacherous  heart ; 
And  back,  or  I  shall  run  thee  through,  petard ! 

Henrique.     Thy    guard,    Sir    Boaster,    or    thy    Spanish 

blood 
Shall  dye  thy  footing-place. 

Don  Mig.  'Tis  thine  to  win, 

If  so  thou  handle  thy  good  sword.      Come,  prince  ! 
(  They  fence  rapidly  for  a  moment.      HENRIQUE  suddenly 
draws  back. 


96  i  THE   LADY  OF   SANTA   ROSA 

Henrique.     Thou  art  a  pretty  swordsman. 

Don  Mig.  So  art  thou. 

Henrique.     Come,  let's  be  friends;     we    seem    of    liker 

metal ; 
And  here's  my  hand. 

Don  Mig.  And  mine  in  kindly  token. 

Henrique.     Now  tell  me  who  thou  art :  because  one  man 
Alone  in  Spain  can  wield  the  sword  like  thee. 

Don  Mig.     His  name? 

Henrique.  Don  Miguel  de  Santa  Rosa 

Granada. 

Don  Mig.     "Pis  mine  own  name  ;  and  but  one 
Can  face  me,  sire,  as  thou  hast.     'Tis  the  son. 
Plumed  sirrah  !  of  the  Duke  of  old  Medina— 
Sidonia.     Art  thou  he,  a  stranger  here? 

Henrique.      I  am  ;   and  we  shall  have  no  further  quarrel 
Until  some  gypsy  maid  divide  her  love. 
But,  hark.     The  Priest  of  Saturn  was  thy  theme; 
And  wast  thou  fooling  with  thy  courtly  self? 

Don  Mig.     Not    I  ;     for   Anso  walked  these  boards  to 
night. 
And  only  on  your  quick  arrival  "went. 

Henrique.      Beneath  the  eaves  I  heard  thy  talk,  and  saw 
No  man,  not  e'en  the  semblance  of  a  ghost ; 
And  to  myself  I  said  :     This  man's  a  fool, 
For  he  doth  prate  of  love  to  hoary  shadows ; 
He  talks  of  dancing  girls  of  wild  Gitano 
Blood. 

Don  Mig.     Careful ! 

Henrique.  And  of  some  Dolores  fair. 

Don  Mig.     My  sword  is  itching  for  patrician  blood. 

Henrique.     Thine  easy  angers  may  cost  blood,  and  thine  ! 


THE   LADY  OF   SANTA   ROSA  97 

Don  Mig .     Defy  me  not,  O  false  and  foreign  prince  ! 

Henrique.     And  further  in  this  rare  delightful  story, 
We  hear  of  Inez.     To  thine  old  guitarra 
Dost  sing:      O  wild  Lolita? 

Don  Mig.  Dost  thou  toy? 

Henrique.     And  then  on  softer  strings,  in  cadence  rare, 
O,  dear  Dolores,  fair  Dolores. 

Don  Mig.  Scoundrel ! 

Henrique.     And  then  a  string  to  love,  e'en  pathos  tuned  : 
Oh,  fairest  Inez,  angels  guard  thy  couch. 

Don  Mig.     Hast    come   to    Spain   to    lose   thy    foreign 
blood? 

Henrique.     And    ail    thy    loves   were  queen :     Moreno 

wild  ; 
Dolores  fair,  and  Inez  rare. 

Don  Mig.  Get  hence, 

Or  draw ! 

Henrique.     My  sword?     Nay,  Cupid  draws  his  courtier, 
His  blatant  lord,  and  with  a  spider  string 
So  fine,  my  Miguel  deems  he  leads  the  battle. 
Have  done  with  such  sweet  folly,  for  'twill  sour  thee  ; 
Give  sleepless  nights,  a  lusty,  fool-hard  temper ; 
A  spite  for  quarrels  with  a  saucy  style. 

Don  Mig.      Sir,  were  I  not  so  late  in  priestly  presence, 
A  foreign  prince  had  bit  our  Spanish  dust. 

Henrique.     I've     come     not     here    to    brew    a    Spanish 

quarrel ; 

My  heart  is  love ;   my  sword  is  love ;  my  thought. 
Come,  come,  Don  Miguel,  wilt  share  thy  loves? 
Let  wild  Lolita  be  my  gypsy  nymph. 

Don  Mig.      Prince,  take  her ;   I've  no  quaiTel  for  Moreno. 

Henrique.     Two   loves  are  more  than  feast,   e'en  for  a 


98  THE   LADY  OF   SANTA   ROSA 

lord  ; 
So,  let  the  Donna  Inez  be  my  prize. 

Don  Mig.     When  babes  in  years,  our  fathers  plighted  us. 

Henrique.     Then  even  she  shall  be  my  wedless  bride  ? 

Don  Mig.     A  thousand  yeses.     She's  my  cousin  fair.    • 

Henrique.     My  titles,  Miguel,  are  high  as  thine. 

Don  Mig.     No  doubt  can  enter. 

Henrique.  For  the  doors  are  shut. 

But  tell  me,  are  we  not  well  met? 

Don  Mig.  As  courtiers? 

Henrique.     And  swordsmen  of  the  finest  ardor? 

Don  Mig.  Aye  ! 

Henrique.     And  so  of  every  capon  we  must  share 
A  leg. 

Don  Mig.     And  half  and  half  of  wing  and  breast. 

Henrique.     But  thou  shalt  have  the  tail,  for  thou  art  last. 

Don  Mig.     I  read  thy  sarcasm  in  thy  words  and  manners  ; 
Yet  dare  resolve  this  riddle ;   for  my  business 
Doth  draw  me  hard. 

Henrique.  And  e'en  as  hangman's  rope. 

Don  Mig.     Hark,  sirrah  !     I  have  done  with  innuendoes. 

Henrique.     Then  draw,  and  briefest  time  shall  settle  it ! 
(  They  commence  action,  when  -with  a  scream,  LOLITA  MO 
RENO  springs  between  them. 

Lolita.     Oh,  Miguel,  don't  lose  thy  life  for  such ! 

Henrique.     What  jade  is  this  ? 

Lolita.  A  dancing  girl  of  Spain  ! 

Don  Mig.     And  I  '11  defend  her  with   my  life.       Aside  ! 

Henrique.     Wilt  draw  thy  sword  for  such  a  strumpet? 

Lolita.  Yes ! 

Henrique.     Then  faretheewell,  my  doughty  hero.      Bye  ! 
(Ex.  HENRIQUE. 


THE   LADY  OF   SANTA   ROSA  99 

Lolita.     And  never  cast  thy  shadows  more  in  Spain. 
Don  Mig.     Lolita,  mind  him  not ;   my  love  for  thee 
Is  boisterous  as  the  brooks  of  Cadiz. 

Lolita.  Yes. 

Don  Mig.     And  ever  shall  my  sword  defend  thee,  darling. 
Come,  let  me  lead  thee  to  this  rustic  seat, 
And  with  mine  old  guitarra  will  we  while    • 
A  passing  hour,  and  in  such  songs  to  thee, 
That  dark  Moreno's  heart  shall  beat  in  tune ; 
And  then  the  grave  old  saraband  may  dance. 
There,  my  Gitano,  what  is  this  but  loving? 
If  every  courtier,  duke  or  titled  lord, 
Should  act  his  heart,  the  dancing  girls  of  Spain 
Would  lead  them  to  the  altar.     Now  a  dance, 
And  o'er  the  silk  and  silver  strings  I  '11  wander, 
While  featly  thou  wilt  foot  it  like  a  sylph. 

Lolita.     Love's  blind;  but  I  will  dance  his  old  fandango. 

{Dances. 

Don  Mig.     Ha,  that  is  fine  as  Moorish  maid,   Moreno. 
Lolita.     And  does  my  dancing  please  Don  Miguel  ? 
Don  Mig.     Better  than  courtly  lady,  beauty  fair. 
Lolita.     I'm  gladdened  if  so  great  a  lord  is  pleased. 
Don  Mig.     Now  sing  with   thy   wild  sweet   voice,   and 

thy  race 

Will  glory  in  thy  loveliness,  while  I 
Do  drink  thy  rapturous  beauty  dark  and  rare. 

Lolita.     I  dance  for  thee  ;  I  sing  to  thee,  for  love  ! 
( Sings. 

SONG. 
A  courtier  knight,  a  Spanish  lord,  , 

Doth  love  Moreno  fair, 
And  on  the  old  guitarra,  love, 


100  THE   LADY  OF  SANTA  ROSA 

We  '11  sing  her  beauty  rare. 

CHORUS. 
Oh  sing  tra  la, 

Oh  sing  tra  lee, 
On  old  guitar, 
On  old  guitar, 

In  love's  med— lee. 
Moreno  is  a  dancing  girl, 

The  rarest  of  her  kind, 
She  floats  with  airy  pirouette, 
With  magic  of  the  wind. 

CHO. 
Her  eyes  are  black,  her  skin  is  dark, 

Her  soul  is  in  her  eyes, 
Her  beauty  is  the  beauty,  love,  ^ 
Of  starry  midnight  skies. 

CHO. 
Don  Mig.     Thy  song  is  beautiful  as  thine  own  self. 

(Ai.BERTi,  her  gypsy  lover,  suddenly  enters. 
Albcrti.     What  hound  is  this?      {Yanking   MORENO    to 
her  feet. 

Moreno,  art  thou  mad  ? 

Sir  villain,  draw  thy  sword,  and  skill  shall  tell ! 
Thy  courtier  blood  is  blue,  but  mine  is  red- 
So,  villain,  draw  ! 

Lolita.  Alberti,  back  !     He 's  master. 

Alberti.     Black  wench,  aside,  or  my  Gitano  blood 
Shall  vent  its  ire  on  thee ! 

Don  Mig.  Go  pluck  his  sleeve, 

And  lead  him  from  this  amphitheatre  ; 
I  'd  sob  to  shed  his  blood.     Poor  man,  his  love  . 

Hath  made  him  mad.      And  such  a  man  as  he; 


TIIK   LADY  OF   SANTA   ROSA  101 

So  tall,  so  dark,  with  raven,  curly  locks, 
And  whiskers  like  a  pirate's.      Lola,  go  ! 
His  love  is  gold  to  mine  of  silver.      Lead 
The  way,  and  never  shall  a  lord  dare  sing 
Another  song  of  love  on  Spain's  guitar 
To  airy  dancing  maid,  Moreno  Lola. 

Alberti.      But,  let  me  at  the  scoundrel,  maid  Gitano. 

Lolita.     Alberti,  have  no  word  with  him  ;  he 's  kind 
To  dancing  girls  like  me.     I  'm  sure  his  soul 
Is  pure.     My  love  should  pacify  Alberti. 

Alberti.     For  once  it  shall ;  but  ere  she  lead  me  hence, 
Bold  knave,  a  word  with  thee.     Once  touch  a  hair 
Of  my  Moreno's  head,  and  young  Granada's 
Blood — But,  I  go.     Moreno,  lead  me  out.      {Ex.  both. 

Don  Mig.     A  booby.     Faugh  !     I  should  have  run  him 

thro' ; 

But,  no — Poor  fool,  he  loves  her  with  his  heart, 
While  I  with  touch  of  sensuality ; 
I  'd  kill  the  dog  should  he  molest  me  further. 
But  faugh  !     I  've  bigger  fish  than  such  as  he. 
This  foreign  prince  hath  something  of  the  rascal ; 
And  yet  a  kind  of  fascination.     He 
Doth  puzzle  me.     'Twere  luck,  since  but  for  this, 
Our  quarrel  had  assumed  a  deadly  ending. 
{He  turns  to  pass  out,  when  he  is  met  by    INEZ,   who  is  in 
half  mask. 

Inez.     Don  Miguel  ? 

Don  Mig.  Yes,  Inez,  and  thy  lover. 

But  why  dost  come?     The  hour  is  late,  and  scoundrels 
Begin  their  wicked  tramps,  with  darkness  as 
Disguise.     A  maid  so  delicate  as  thou 
Should  hie  her  home  to  mother's  covering  wing. 


102  THE   LADY   OF   SANTA   KOSA 

But,  look  !      Thou  art  disguised  !     Why  domino 
On  face  so  fair?     'Tis  love  and  jealousy 
Upon  a  rampage.     Pray,  wilt  tell  thy  lord  ? 

Inez.     Dost  know  a  coarse  Gitano  dancing  girl  ? 

Don  Mig.      Ha,  ha  !    and  so  god  Cupid  leads  my  lassie? 
Too  good,  too  good  !      Pray,  Inez,  let  me  dare 
Remove  thy  domino  ;  for  thou  art  passing 
Fair  ;   lily  beauty  from  some  tropic  clime  ; 

A  house-plant  watered  by  the  tears  of  lovers.    (Removes  mask . 
Thou  art  too  fair ;   and  every  noble  eye 
Will  bear  me  out  in't.      So,  a  dancing  gypsy 
Hath  robbed  my  lady  of  her  quiet.     Ha, 
Love  oft  hath  made  a  crown  of  thorns.     But,  Inez, 
Go  rest  in  peace ;   I'm  true  as  Polar  star  ; 
My  love  is  clear  and  pure  as  Polar  night ; 
The  glittering  Polar  stars  his  anadem. 

Inez.     I  will  confess  my  love  for  thee  hath  led 
Me  out,  and  in  such  hour  that  I  do  tremble. 

Don  Mig.      But  be  no  more  aroused  ;  for  such  a  love 
As  mine  can  guard  thee  all  thy  livelong  days, 
And  make  thy  life  a  running  ditty.      Come, 
Let's  forth.     But,  stay;    a  Peter  for  thy  Paul. 
Didst  notice  in  thy  nightly  rambles,  Prince 
Henrique,  dressed  in  faultless  foreign  garb, 
With  such  emboldened  air  and  iced  exterior, 
That  frigid  smiles  did  play  across  his  features? 

Inez.     I  met  a  courtly  man  as  tall  as  thou, 
With  such  degree  of  court  politeness  that — 

Don  Mig.     That  what? 

Inez.  He    turned    aside    and  circled 

round 
Me,  lifting  such  a  hat  of  loveliness, 


THE   LApY  OF   SANTA   ROSA  103 

I  could  but  change  my  courtly  etiquette 
With   him. 

Don  Mig.     Then  will  we  toss  a  penny,  love ; 
For,  'tween  us  is  a  bow,  a  Spanish  song. 
Fair  Inez,  are  we  not  at  quits?     'Tis  so; 
Lolita  danced  and  sang  for  me ;  the  prince, 
Ha,  doffed  his  hat  and  circled  round  thee  so  !     (Imitating. 

Inez.      Restore  my  mask,  and  I  will  hie  me  hence 
And  nevermore  go  watching.      Wilt  forgive  me? 

Don  Mig.     And  with  a  kiss,  if  stage  propriety 
Forbade  it  not.      But  thought  is  deed  for  such. 
When  marriage  crowns  us,  and  old  Hymen  lights 
Us  to  our  bridal  couch,  then  shall  our  kisses 
Re-echo  to  the  night,  and  gossips  hear 
No  echoings.      But,  let  me  be  thy  knight; 
For  clouds  have  curled  across  the  sky,  and  stars 
Twinkle  behind  impenetrable  darkness, 
The  sad  round  moon  illuming  but  in  vain. 

Inez.     If  other  business  call  thee,  night  for  me 
Hath  not  a  frighting  harm.     My  love  is  brave. 

Don  Mig.      (Aside.}     'Twill  be  a  hero  if  in  battle  for 
Granada's  heart ! 

Inez.  Wast  speaking,  Miguel  ? 

Don  Mig.     One  only  thought,  but  thou  wert  in  it,  Inez. 
But,  come.      I'll  be  thy  starless  night  escort; 
And  dancing  girl  or  prince  durst  cross  our  path, 
I'll  have  the  right  of  deadly  arbitration ! 

Enter  MIDDLE. 
What  knave  of  trumps  is  this?     Our  worthy  clown. 

Middle.     They  call  me  Middle.     Why?     The  fool  is  in 
The  middle.      But,  now  begging  clownly  pardons, 
I  just  rubbed  up  against  a  courtly  fool, 


104  THE   LAUY   OF   SANTA   ROSA 

If  fool  can  see  a  fool,  Don  Miguel. 

D  >n  Mig.        What!   cursed  Henrique?       Fool!       Thy 

hand,  fair  Inez  ; 

Since  I  would  lead  thee  from  such  paltry  prince. 
Old  trouble  goes  a-brewing  night  and  day, 
And  rises  from  the  clown  to  lord  or  prince.     {Leads  her  out. 

Middle.     A  fool  by  nature  I,  but  he  through  love. 
I  sleep  and  dream  because  I  know  no  better ; 
They  lie  awake  and  dream  because  of  love. 
That  I  could  be  as  wise  as  he  for  seconds, 
To  know  just  how  a  self-made  fool  doth  feel. 
Ah  !  enters  love's  true  pattern  of  a  man, 
And  something  near  as  pretty  as  a  girl ; 
And  yet  a  man,  a  human,  human  man, 
I'll  get  behind  the  wing,  and  fool-like  listen 
To  life's  dear  love-made  fool.     One  fool  't  to  time  ; 
Enter,  my  wise  apportioned  counterpart.      {Hides  behind  the 
wing.     Enter  PRINCE  HENRIQUE. 

Henrique.     Was  never  such  a  lovely  maid  in  all 
The  realm  of  Spain.      She  raised  her  domino; 
But  haply  that  I  were  some  other  lord ; 
Perchance,  this  proud  Granada.      Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 
A  triple  villain  truly.     Three  strange  loves ; 
One,  Lola,  a  Gitano  dancing  girl, 
With  such  a  midnight  beauty,  e'en  old  courtiers 
Find  their  dull  hearts  a-pounding  'gainst  their  sides. 
And  Inez.     For  some  old  hidalgo  gossips 
Did  prate  the  secrets  of  the  town  because, 
Forsooth  !     I  am  a  master  of  the  sword, 
And  hied  me  from  a  foreign  land  with  suite 
Of  lovely  gentlemen  that  beggar  art. 
What  foolish  men  we  women  are.     A  hoax  ? 


TTIR   LADY  OF   SANTA   ROSA  105 

I  mean  we  men  turned  womanish  by  women. 
Ha,  ha,  there's  Miguel ;  a  Spanish  hero, 
As  brave  as  Caesar ;   master  of  the  sword  ; 
A  glorious  good  companion ;  wit  and  wine 
His  mottoes;   ever  ready  at  a'need  ; 
Sharing  his  last  pistole ;   and  yet  I  dub  him 
A  pickaninny  dressed  to  please  the  fair. 
Out  on  a  pickpurse  lord  like  him.      I'm  tired 
Seeing  brave  men  still  tied  to  ladies'  skirts. 
Ah  !   here's  a  maudlin  fool;   old  nature  did  it. 

Enter  MIDDLED  grinning. 
Well,  well,  thou  leering  ninny,  why  hast  come?. 

Middle.     Because  my  legs  would  argue  'gainst  my  mind. 

Henrique.      Legs?     Middle,  poor  are  legs  in   argument. 

MiihUe.     A  clownly  pardon.     But  thou'lt  hear  a  clown  ? 

Henrique.     A  fool  or  clown,  'tis  all  the  same  to  princes. 

Middle.     I  stole  a  capon  from  the  roosting. 

Henrique.  Well. 

Middle.     My  legs  were  wiser  than  a  lord;  they  ran. 

Henrique.     And  that  was  all  thy  lawyer's  argument  ? 

Middle.     Nay;   for  I  fed  my  legs  down  thro'  my  mouth. 

Henrique.     Devoured  the  chicken  ? 

Middle.  Yea  ;   and  crowed 

for  more. 

Henrique.        How  so  ? 

Middle.  The  chicken  was  a  rooster,   sir. 

Henrique.     Thou  art  a  fool  indeed,  a  very  fool. 

Mid-die.     But  had  Henrique  my  two  legs,  'twere  well. 

Henrique.     Pray  tell  me  ere  thy  blood's  upon  my  sword  ! 

Middle.     He  would  have  run  away  from  maid   Dolores. 

Henrique.     But  I  do  know  her  not.     ExpPain,  thou  fool  ! 

Middle.     All  men  do  bow  to  Queen  Dolores,  sir. 


106  THE   LADY  OF   SANTA   ROSA 

Henrique.     And  so  must  I  needs  take  to  paltry  legs? 

Middle.     Yea;  trust  thy  legs  in  love  for  all  thy  heart; 
For  legs  in  love  have  more  of  earthly  wisdom. 

Henrique.     Don  Miguel  hath  several  loves,  dear  clown. 

Middle.     Then  several  times  as  big  a  fool  as  thou. 

Henrique.     And  both   his   legs   have  failed   to   extricate 

him  ? 

But  hence!     I'm  fooling  with  my  heart's  true  love  ; 
And  as  the  saying  is:      One  fool't  to  time. 

Middle.     I  go  ;  but  when  did  love  e'er  get  along 
Without  his  fool? 

Enter  INEZ. 

Inez.  Dear  Middle,  who  is  this? 

Middle.     A  man,  if  still  he  be  a  prince,  Miss  Inez. 

Henrique.     A  thousand  princely  pardons,  senorita. 

Inez.      Senor,  I  am  intrusive  ;   I'll  withdraw. 

Henrique.     Thou  hast  such  art  and  life's  divinity, 
No  foreign  lord  could  fail  to  bow  to  thee. 
Enter  DOLORES. 

Dolores.     And  here  are  maidens  fair  and  very  fine ; 
But  handsome  gentlemen  call  me  divine  ! 

Henrique.     O  what  a  beauty  of  a  woman,  Inez. 

Inez.     Indeed,  as  lovely  as  a  bridal  rose. 

Henrique.     A    Spanish  lass — {Enter  MIGUEL  suddenly, 
drawing  his  sivord. 

Don  Mig.  Ho  !  draw,  thou  paltry  villain, 

And  Inez  and  Dolores  be  the  judges  ! 

Middle.     I'll  get  my  bandage  ;   soon  two  bloods  will  flow. 

Inez.     Don  Miguel,  put  up  thy  coward  sword. 

Henrique".     Or  mine  shall    spill    thy  treacherous   blood, 

bold  prince  ! 
(  They  fence.      As  MIGUEL_/#//.?  from  a  thrust,  into  the  arms 


THE   LADY  OF   SANTA   ROSA  107 

of  DOLORES,  MORENO  rushes  between  them,  'wounded 
by  MIGUEL'S  JJying  aiuord,  but  is  caught  in  the  arms 
of  ALBERTI,  \^*EZ  fainting  and  falling  into  the  arms 
of  HENRIOJJE,  the  clown  staring  in  a  corner. 

CURTAIN    FALLS. 


MY  AIDENN 


MY  AIDENN. 

Oh  have  you  seen  my  castle  ? 

Ah  me  !  down  by  the  sea ; 
My  castle,  tasseled  castle, 

And  built  so  wondrously, 
Built  on  a  plan  of  beauty 

Surpassing  any  dream, 
My  tessellated  castle 

With  silver  joist  and  beam? 

A  window  facing  heaven 

Where  brightest  angels  be, 
My  fairy,  airy  castle 

Fronting  the  restless  sea, 
Aye  restless  when  I'm  sleeping, 

Sleeping  my  sleep  of  love, 
With  sands  and  waters  round  me, 

And  eve's  one  star  above. 

For  architect  a  Cupid 

With  newly-fledged  wing, 
So  beauty,  beauty,  beauty, 

And  I  the  crowned  king ! 
A  king  in  such  a  kingdom, 

I'm  happy  at  the  thought, 
I'm  happy  in  this  kingdom, 

There  is  no  happier  spot ! 


112  MY  AIDENN 

I  have  a  priceless  Raphael, 

Raphael  and  Keats  and  Keats, 
I  have  all  kinds  of  music, 

A  nook  with  rustic  seats, 
Cupids  in  silver  fountains, 

And  o'er  my  fabric  whole, 
And  o'er  my  glorious  fabric 

The  beauty  of  the  soul. 

The  sea-mew  moaneth,  crieth, 

^ 

Crieth  for  joy  all  day, 
In  undertone  the  breakers 

Moan  out  a  roundelay, 
Moan  out,  and  yet  a  ditty 

As  soft  as  sigh  or  kiss, 
It  seems  to  me,  it  seemeth 

Here  in  this  vale  of  bliss. 

New  veiny  shells  and  pebbles 

Washed  by  a  thousand  waves, 
A  thousand  waves  in  trebles, 

In  little  bars  and  staves, 
Roll  at  my  feet,  and  to  them 

I  say:     "O  ocean  shell 
And  pebble,  what's  your  mission, 

A  kiss  or  faretheewell  ?" 

I  fondle ;  unreplying, 

They  shine  and  sparkle  so, 
Sparkle  and  shine  so  wondrous, 

Oh  be  it  yea  or  no  ? 
Yea,  shall  I  fondle,  linger? 

Since  in  my  dreams  with  thee, 
I  hear  a  far  off  music 

Intoned  bv  the  sea. 


MY    AIDENX  113 

Is't  love  ?     I'm  not  so  foolish  ; 

My  castle  !     Ah,  too  true, 
No  maiden  fair  or  elfish 

Shall  dare  dispute  with  you  ; 
For,  hear  me,  stone  and  mortar, 

Mortar  and  groined  stone, 
My  castle's  for  a  hermit, 

I'd  live  here  all  alone. 

A  skiff,  a  boat  so  dainty 

'Twould  tip  with  Cupid  in, 
A  lullaby  is  playing : 

"We  have  no  kith  and  kin  !" 
And  so  I'm  free  as  breakers, 

Breakers  with  crests  of  foam, 
That  sparkle,  flash  and  shimmer 

Around  my  castle  home. 

Around  my  castle  lordly, — 

And  O  the  peace  to  me ! 
And  O  the  music  in  me ! 

The  music  of  the  sea  ; 
So  glorious,  olden,  golden, 

My  castle  wondrous  fair, 
So  olden,  golden,  glorious, 

Divinity  is  there  ! 

% 
Architrave  and  rafter, 

Rafter  and  lintel  too, 
The  corbel  old,  fantastic, 

No  mortal  more  could  do  ; 
Demoniac  spirits  come  not, 

Demoniac  elfs  are  far, 
The  beauty  that  is  o'er  me 

Is  made  of  moon  and  star. 


114  MY   AIDKNN 

I  dine  with  rosy  nectar 

Winking  with  bubbly  eyes. 
Ah  me  !   I  have  ambrosia. 

And  wines  from  sunny  skies  ; 
I  brim  my  beakers,  beakers. 

My  beakers  lined  with  gold, 
The  wine  I  quaffs  delicious, 

Delicious  in  cobwebs  old. 

I  fondle  Poe  in  visions. 

In  visions  with  him  lie, 
Our  only  golden  poet ! 

Our  only  ?     Tell  me  why  ? 
Verlaine  in  rhythmic  numbers. 

With  haunting  melodies. 
Weird  melodies  fantastic,. 

Sad,  sombre,  elfish  glees. 

With  rapturous,  beauteous  music, 
Yea,  beauteous,  too,  as  death. 

When  newr  love's  loveliest  maiden- 
Hush  !  giveth  up  her  breath  ! 

With  cadence  dripping  glorious 
The  red,  red  wines  of  thought, 

With  heaven  and  hell  contending 
In  beauties  he  has  wrought. 

And  so  the  winged  sunshine 

Chases  the  shadows  grim, . 
Chases  from  nook  and  corner, 

Till  wraiths,  ah,  faint  and  slim, 
As  apparitions,  haunt  me, 

Spirits  of  those  I  knew  ; 
But,  O  delicious,   luscious, 

To  be  with  such  as  you  ! 


MY    AIPENK  115 

Against  my  window,  music. 

Fantastic,  half  divine, 
Divine  and  heavenly  wondrous, 
.     Sparkling  like  beaded  wine, 
White  wine  that  makes  capricious 

Dream-fancies  unto  me, 
Until  I  laugh  ecstatic, 

Demoniac  in  my  glee. 

Taine,  Lamb,  Montaigne  and  Zangwill, 

Yea,  gloi'ious  are  to  me, 
The  friends  I  love,  the  friendships 

Best  for  their  rarity  ! 
As  scarce  as  Brownings,  Shelleys, 

A  Coleridge,  yea,  a  Poe ; 
But  well-a-way,  I'm  happy, — 

The  sea-wave  boometh  low. 

The  sea-wave  is  my  organ, 

My  emerald  minstrelsy, 
In  undertone  majestic, 

In  horrid  revelry ; 
In  cadent,  rhythmic  numbers. 

Diversified  for  me, 
Come  o'er  me,  to  me,  to  me, 

These  ballads  of  the  sea. 

So,  here  I'd  live  forever. 

Forever,  yea  and  aye, 
With  nothing  diabolic, 

Nothing  to  slay  or  flay ; 
Great  ships  with  sails  outbcllied, 

White  glistening  on  the  wave, 
White  glistening  like  a  phantom, 

Sail  on  with  runic  stave. 


116  MY   AIDENN 

And  I  am  left  forever 

In  castle  by  the  sea, 
With  organ  tones  majestic, 

Buried  in  majesty, 
Buried  in  hoary  glories, 

Glories  of  wind  and  wave. 
And  should  I  die  angelic, 

Let  ocean  be  my  grave  ! 


SONG  OF  THE  SEA  SHELL 


SONG  OF  THE  SEA  SHELL 

Through  diamond  sands  I  wander 

In  olden  glories  lost, 
In  old  fantastic  beauties, 

Holding  a  shell  embossed 
With  many  a  wavy  nodule, 

A  message-shell  to  me, 
A  message  from  the  ages, 

And  tell-tales  of  the  sea. 

I  sit  me  wayward,  curious, 

Curious  in  phantasy, 
O'erfilled  with  revelations, 

And  love-songs  of  the  sea, 
And  love-songs,  ditties  olden. 

Olden  like  corked  wine, 
The  wine  of  tipsy  Bacchus, 

Reveling  with  maids  divine. 

And  as  I  sit,  my  sea-shell 

Telleth  a  tale  to  me, 
A  song,  a  song,  a  love-song, 

The  mystery  of  the  sea  ; 
A  song  so  weird,  so  elfish, 

Elfish  and  weird  and  fine, 
I  clasp  it  for  its  glory, 

Its  tell-tales  of  the  brine. 


120  SONG  OF  THE   SKA   SHELL 

I  kiss  it,  who  may  know  it? 

Perchance  a  mermaid  queen. 
With  rapturous  kiss  ecstatic. 

Kissed  it  in  ocean's  green  ; 
Yea,  kissed  it  with  a  passion, 

A  passion  mermaids  know, 
Down,  down  in  ocean  kingdoms, 

Where  moon-tides  ebb  and  flow. 

Where  mermen,  mermaids  wander 

In  ocean  jubilee, 
Shells,  carcanet,  fantastic, 

And  rare  festivity ; 
Where  grottoed  reefs  of  coral. 

Corals  by  insects  built. 
Sparkle  and  shimmer,  sparkle 

Like  diamonds  on  a  hilt. 

So,  tell  me,  ocean,  ocean, 

So.  tell  me,  empty  shell, 
What  secret  hast  thou,   hast  thou? 

What  secret  hast  to  tell  ? 
I  hold  you,  and  I  hear  you. 

Singing  a  song,  a  song, 
Who  made  your  ocean  music 

That  singeth  all  day  long? 

I  found  you  on  the  seashore 

Buried  in  sifting  sand, 
Oh  did  you  hie  from  India  ? 

Or  is't  your  native  strand  ? 
A  weird  hallucination, 

Fantastic  as  a  dream, 
Huunteth  my  soul,  O  Sea-shell  ! 

With  evanescent  gleam. 


S0\(4   0|.'   TIIK   .-KA    SHEI.l, 

Did  ocean  queen  e'er  string  you, 

And  play  old  roundelays? 
Rondels  of  cavallieros, 

In  olden,  golden  days? 
What  pearls  have  heard  your  music 

Your  song  is  never  old, 
A  thousand  years  'twill  murmur 

To  ages  yet  untold. 

And  yet  I  cannot  solve  you, 

Your  song  is  hid  from  me. 
Within  your  minstrel  bosom 

Is  hid  your  melody  ; 
Your  song  is  never  ending, — 

What  other  age  shall  hear? 
O  will  you  e'er  be  voiceless', 

And  silent  to  the  ear? 


HELL  AND  HEAVEN 


HELL  AND  HEAVEN 

They  drag  me  helhvard,  mother, 

They  drag  me  hellward  aye, 
They  drag  me  helhvard,  helhvard, 

They  drag  me  though  I  pray ; 
I  see  them  idiotic, — 

O  how  their  red  eyes  gleam  ! 
Their  power,  oh  'tis  despotic, 

They  seize  me  in  my  dream  ! 

I  try  to  shape  and  fashion 

A  manner  of  escape, 
But  devils  diabolic, 

They  mime  and  stare  and  gape. 
Till  beads  of  perspiration 

Rush  startled  to  mv  face, 
O  horrid,  weird  damnation 

Translate  me  from  this  place. 

But,  nay,  the  crowned  goblet 

Is  pressed  to  my  lip,  . 
•'Taste,  mortal,  weary  mortal. 

Yea,  take  a  human  sip  !" 
But,  nay,  I  dash  it  from  me, 

I  see  the  shattered  glass ; 
"Get  hence,  uncertain  shadows, 

I  go  to  holv  mass  !" 


HKU.     AM)     IIKAVKX 

But,  Mother  Mary,  mother, 

Good  angels  kiss  my  brow, 
Kiss  me,  angelic,  rapturous, 

And  'tice  me  heavenward  now ; 
Their  white  wings  fan  my  curtains. 

An  odor  comes  to  me, 
As  from  a  swinging  ctMiser 

Hung  in  eternity ! 

"O  how  the  music  playeth  ! — 

They  bear  me  to  the  sky, — 
Oh  let  me  dream  in  odors, 

In  dreamland  let  me  lie." 
"But,  nay,  you  conquered,  mortal, 

The  miming  devils  lost ; 
Your  dream  will  end  in  heaven, 

You  won  at  any  cost !" 

So,  hell  and  heaven's  contention, 

Mangled,  but  left  me  free, 
As  winged  bird  in  ether, 

As  sea-mew  o'er  the  sea  ; 
As  bee  on  swinging  floweret, 

A  pure,  a  perfect  whole, 
And  'spite  of  hell,  demonian, 

Heaven  won  a  perfect  soul ! 


AMABEL 


.  AMABEL 

Her  eyes  were  as  the  star-shine. 

When  skies  are  blue,  so  blue, 
Amabilis,  my  love-queen, — 

O  for  a  world  like  you  ! 

I  love  you,  love  you,  love  you, 

Amabilis,  my  Bel, 
Down  deeply  in  my  bosom. 

Deeper  adown  than  hell ! 

All  night-time  in  my  spirit, 

When  clouds  go  hide  and  seek. 

With  her  I  go  ;  .seraphic, — 
She  loves  me  if  she  speak ; 

But  when  the  veils  of  morning 

By  angels  are  withdrawn, 
By  angels,  holy  angels, 

My  idol  maid  is  gone  ! 

Last  e'en  I  saw  an  angel, 

But  now  I  go  to  her ; — 
I  start  and  stare  theatric  !  — 

Must  love  drink  myrrh,  love's  myrrh 


AMABEL 

Love's  aberration,  '  ation,  . 

Is  in  her  lovely  eye  ; 
My  God,  my  God,  my  Jesus, 

Drop  mercy  from  the  sky  ! 

t;Mv  Amabel,  a  demon, 

A  demon  wicked,  fell, 
Has  ta'en  your  reason,  reason, 

My  spotless  Amabel  ! 

ilOh  horrid  aberration ! 

So  wicked,  cruel,  fell, 
You've  ta'en  her  perfect  reason, 

Amabilis.  my  Bel  !" 

Oh  eyes  !   oh  where  your  meaning;: 
Where  love  in  loveliness? — 

Now  waits  hallucination 
To  kill  Amabilis; 

To  kill  where  love  made  beauty, 
A  beauty  love  could  see ; 

But,  ah  !   this  dissolution, 
The  living  death  to  me  ! 

I  try  to  win  love-glances, 

The  poem  of  her  face, 
The  poem  only  love's  eyes 

In  love  can  fondly  trace  : 

Ah  me  !   I'm  but  a  stranger, — 
What  made  her  love  me  so, 

And  then  with  toppling  reason. 
Turn  eves  that  do  not  know? 


AMABEL 

I  take  her  hand ;   ecstatic,  • 

I  fondle  and  caress, 
I  touch  her  lips  with  kisses, — 

She  stares.     O  my  distress  ! 

I  show  the  old  love  fondness ; 

I  cry  :   "My  Amabel !" 
Her  love  has  said  :    "  'Tis  over  ; 

It  is  our  last  farewell  !" 

Then  reason  made  her  beauty  ? — 

As  marble  is  she  fair ! 
A  Greek  Slave  in  her  beauty. 

But  life  is  wanting  there  ! 

Her  eye  is  unresponsive, 

Her  cheek  ? — the  rose  is  gone  ; 

Oh  great  world,  you  are  empty, 
Though  you  may  jangle  on ! 

Come  back  in  marble  whiteness, 

O  soul  of  Amabel, 
Come  back  to  love's  dear  palace, 

Come  back,  forever  dwell 

In  love's  dear  tabanacle, 

In  love's  cathedral  home  ; 
For  where  a  lovelier  prison  r 

Come  back,  white  soul  !   don't  roam. 

But  sackcloth,  dust  and  ashes, 
Her  eye  will  shine  no  more; 

Her  eye,  her  face  are  vacant. 
Vacant  forevermore ; 


130  AMAI'.KI. 


So,  what  is  love  ?     Who  knoweth 
She  loved,  but  now  loves  not ' 

I  am  a  perfect  stranger, — 
My  love  she  has  forgot ! 

So,  to  my  love's  dominion 
Came  imps  of  horrid  dread. 

Came  to  my  love's  dominion, 
Till  Amabel  lies  dead  ! 

Yea,  dead  to  love  and  loving. 

And  dead  to  even  me  ; 
So,  faretheewell,  my  darling, 

Love's  last  farewell  to  thee ! 


FINIS. 


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